


Cunning Little Vixen

by oooknuk



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Methos is desperately ill, Duncan is desperate, and Amanda is pissed off about all of it.





	1. Chapter 1

Amanda sniffed in disgust at the disinfected, new-carpet-and-paint smell of the clinic, glad that her Chanel covered most of it. God, these places made her skin crawl. No self-respecting Immortal had any business being in them. Hospitals were unnatural, she knew that in her bones. Places to house the living dead. If you wanted to look after someone, you should do it at home. At least Duncan had chosen a place with a little class, she conceded, as she noted with approval the immaculate uniform and precise makeup of the receptionist, and her respectfully efficient demeanour. It didn't really make up for the unbelievable nature of the situation, and her shocked suspicion at the whole business was as strong now as it had been two days ago when he'd called her in the States to ask her to come to Paris. 

She sank into one of the expensive leather armchairs, but stood only a minute later at the feel of Immortal Presence, which heralded Duncan's arrival. Her heart sank - he looked _terrible_. He hadn't even _shaved_ , for God's sake and the sight of his worn, tired features made her rusty maternal instincts creak into life. She hadn't come a minute too soon. 

He kissed her cheek and she caressed his bristles. At this close distance, she could see a tiny tic in one cheek, and how paperlike the skin under his eyes had become. She really wanted to kiss him again, but they were in public so she restrained herself. "Duncan, honey, you look awful." Damn, he was supposed to be the strong one. 

"I feel awful," he said grimly. "Not as bad as he does, though." 

She tugged his arm and made him sit - he looked on the verge of collapse from worry and exhaustion, as if standing was a burden too far. She really hated that defeated slump in his shoulders, and the gravelly tone of his voice that spoke of misery as well as fatigue. "What's going on, Duncan? I can't believe Methos agreed to this," she said in a low voice. 

"He didn't have a choice. You'll understand when you see him." 

"I still don't understand - how can he be sick?" They kept their voices down, even though the receptionist was some distance away and the foyer was furnished with wall hangings and an expensive wheat-coloured carpet that muffled and absorbed the sounds of their conversation. 

"We don't know, but he is. And it's not just him - there's eight of us here." 

"Eight!" Amanda exclaimed, forgetting their audience for a moment. "Who?" she asked in a quieter tone. 

"Gina de Valicourt, Tony Harrison ...." He named others she had vaguely heard of. "They all just collapsed, all around two months ago. M ... Adam was taken to hospital. Joe knows a doctor ... a Watcher ... who's made a special study of our ... physiology. He's been able to take charge." 

Damn ghoul, she thought, suddenly angry at the situation and at the involvement of an organisation which had been nothing but grief to her. "But what is it? What's the cause?" 

Duncan wiped a tired hand over an even more tired face. "They don't know, Amanda. They don't think it's contagious - at first we thought it was poison since everyone of them collapsed in public, and they'd had a meal not too long ago. But there was nothing in their blood work and it's gone on for weeks and weeks. Well past when any poison would have broken down and they would have healed." She nodded - there was a certain logic in that. "The best guess now is some sort of breakdown of our immune system. Gordon's researching it. " 

"Gordon ...?" 

"The doctor. Dr Gordon Hudson. I don't know what we would have done without him." Duncan looked on the verge of tears, and she patted his hand. 

"Does he know ... I mean, Adam ... how old he is?" 

The tension in her body she'd been maintaining since she walked in relaxed a little when he shook his head. "No. If it was only really old Immortals I would have said something. It _might_ be to do with age - but Gina's only as old as me." 

Thank God MacLeod had shown that much sense. "What are the symptoms? Why can't you take him home?" 

"Because he's in agony," he said tightly, in a voice that was rapidly thickening with the tears he was fighting not to spill. "They're pushing in almost lethal levels of morphine and it only keeps the pain tolerable. His skin - the slightest touch, and it breaks into sores. He's suffering from photalgia...." She looked at him quizzically, the word meaning nothing to her. "Extreme sensitivity to light - they have to ... have to ... blindfold ..." And at that, to her utter horror, he did start to cry and all she could do was cradle him and pat his back. "I haven't seen his eyes for weeks...." he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. 

Damn it! No one got to do this to her guy. Even if he was someone else's guy right now. "Shhh, Duncan. Oh, you poor, poor thing ...." 

He pushed away, smearing his tears across his face with his arm. "Not me - him, Amanda. He's in pain and helpless and I don't know what to do...." His voice ended on a sob and she drew him close again. He sagged heavily, leaning all his weight on her and she felt a powerful urge to protect him from this awful situation, to carry him away and love him. But he wouldn't allow it, she already knew that. 

"I'm sure you're doing the best you can, Duncan." She waited until the broken sounds eased, then pulled out her practical handkerchief and wiped his tears away. "Let's go and see the old man, and then I'm taking you home for a rest and a meal...." He started to argue but she wasn't going to tolerate that. "No, don't you fight me. You asked me for help and that's what I'm going to do. Anyone can see you're on the edge of a nervous breakdown and that won't do him a bit of good. Come on, honey. Where are they keeping him?" 

With a bit of urging, he stood and led the way down a hall to an elegantly appointed room, all in soothing pastels and abstract patterns, the details and estimated cost of which she registered automatically even as her vision focussed on the far too slight figure curled on the bed. Even with the warnings she'd had, she was still shocked by the situation, instinctively drawing close to the man lying there, but repelled by what she saw. The lighting was dim, but just like Duncan had said, Methos was wearing a dark mask. That disturbed her more than she would have expected - so much of Methos was expressed through his eyes. The rest of his face was obscured by a sparse, ragged, black beard - she'd never even have recognised him without Duncan's help. It was a vision right out of her past - from a time when poverty was normal, when deformity was so common as to be unremarked. When mortals died young from disease and starvation. She shivered as she remembered how she'd nursed dying men who looked just as Methos did now. 

Monitors and drips grew out of him every which way and what she could see of his once perfect skin was covered with healing welts and sores. She looked at Duncan in silent enquiry. "The sheets are silk but even they're too rough. If anyone touches him too hard, he breaks out in ulcers," he explained in a dull, expressionless tone. "Can't shave him, either." 

Horrified, she took his words in, then realised what else was wrong. "He hasn't moved - doesn't he know we're here?" The Methos she knew would never have slept through the arrival of even one, let alone two Immortals. 

"They keep him sedated as much as they can - the pain's too awful otherwise." 

Two months, she thought. All it took to reduce Methos to a shell and Duncan to a living wreck. "There has to be another way - Duncan, how does he feel about the _Watchers_ looking after him?" She spoke in a whisper, unsure if the still form on the bed had any awareness or not. "They tried to kill him - dammit, MacLeod, they tried to kill _me_. He's got to be worried." 

MacLeod's brown eyes were limpid with grief. "He doesn't know, thank God. And don't you think I've tried everything else I can? Anne Lindsay says it's as good as anything she could do, Grace is out of contact...." 

And so was I, she thought grimly. "And Joe?" 

"Joe's as helpless as me, Amanda." 

She reached over to stroke Methos' hair lightly, not daring to touch the fragile skin. It was dry, unhealthy, its usual dark glossiness dulled. It felt straw-like instead of the silk she remembered. Finally she straightened. There was nothing she could do here, but there was something she could do for Duncan. "Okay. You're coming back to the barge, and getting some sleep. And then later we're going to eat and then you're going to sleep some more." 

He baulked immediately. "Amanda...." 

"Duncan, you just let me look after you for a little while, okay, sweetie? He doesn't know, and if he did, he wouldn't mind. He'd never forgive me if I let you fall apart, would he?" 

For the very first time and only for a second, the ghost of a smile appeared. "No, he wouldn't. All right - but I'm coming back in the morning, first thing." 

"I know. Just tonight. I presume they've got some sort of security at this place?" 

"The best - I helped Gordon pick it. He's safe from intruders. I wouldn't leave him here if I wasn't sure about that." 

"So there you go. Come back with me." 

To her relief, and uncharacteristically, Duncan let her take charge, which more than anything proved how exhausted how he was. He did insist on driving, taking excessive care, as a drunk might, and not saying much as he drove grimly and determinedly through the light traffic. She was relieved when they finally arrived at the barge - a car accident would have been the last thing either of them needed at this point. 

As it had done when she had stopped by earlier on her way from the airport, the boat smelled musty and unloved, although it was as orderly as she would have expected. There was very little food in the fridge - he'd admitted on the drive back that he'd been subsisting on meals snatched from takeaways and the little patisserie a mile from the clinic - but at least the wine cellar was as well-stocked as usual. Without invitation, she opened a bottle of a good, rich Hermitage, and make Duncan drink a glass before she would allow him to talk or do anything else. Not that he really could do much else. Even the simple act of removing his coat, or handling the wineglass, seemed to take more coordination than his tired brain could come up with, and it was obvious to her that he was desperately in need of rest. Thankfully, the wine did its work. She encouraged him to lean on her as she stroked his shoulder and hair rhythmically, not wanting to wake him up, and when he grew heavy, she eased him down. She put a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket before slipping up onto the deck, shutting the door softly behind her before pulling out her mobile and dialling Le Blues Bar. 

"Joe? It's Amanda. Can you come meet me at Duncan's barge?" 

"Amanda? Why?' the Watcher asked, suspicion stark in his voice. She almost sighed. 

"Because, Joe. Can you or can't you?" She didn't feel inclined to play games with him, and if he wouldn't help, she'd find someone who would.

"Yeah, okay. Give me ten minutes. Where's MacLeod?" 

"Asleep, and I want him to stay that way so don't bother calling him and keep the noise down when you get here. I'm up on deck." 

She was being sharp, and didn't care. This situation was ridiculous - Duncan was mourning, Methos was wasting away, and the Watchers were just ... watching. Bastards. 

She paced on the causeway impatiently but soon enough a Jeep pulled up and Joe hauled himself out of the car. She went over to him. "I need to know everything about Methos and the others, Joe," she said without ceremony. "This feels all wrong." 

To her surprise, Joe nodded. "You're dead right, lady. It sucks. But I don't have any more ideas about the cause than you do." 

His openness lanced her anger, and she smiled at him. "Would you like to take me to coffee, Joe?" 

At a nearby café, sitting in the sun at an outdoors table, he told her as much as he knew, which was not a lot more than Duncan had said. Methos had been taken ill during lunch at the University where he was taking a semester's teaching. MacLeod had been notified as the named emergency contact, and Joe had got a frantic call from the Highlander an hour later. 

"Mac didn't know where to start - the hospital weren't going to release Methos on his say-so, and he was terrified they'd find out he was Immortal. Fortunately Gordon Hudson is one of our people - it's not the first time an Immortal has been taken to hospital, so we have a contingency plan in place. We faked up some permission papers so he could take over his care, to keep prying eyes away, you know what I mean." She nodded - that at least made some sense. He took a sip from his coffee cup before continuing. "Mac told you we thought it was poison?" 

"Yes. We don't get sick, you know that." 

"Sure we know that, Amanda," he said a little impatiently. "Even if I was to stick you full of strychnine here and now, the worst that would happen would be that you'd die in agony and get up and finish your coffee, right?" She grimaced at the unpleasant image, but nodded again. "So, we just thought Methos would get better. But he didn't - he got worse. It wasn't pretty, Amanda - what you're seeing now is ten times better than what he was like when he first got sick." 

"You've got to be kidding," she said in horror. 

"Wish I was. Gordon organised an MRI, full blood work up, everything. But nothing showed." 

"You saw the results yourself?" she asked sharply, not trusting anyone's word at this point. 

"The hospital lab did all the tests, and yeah, I saw 'em. I'm no fool, Amanda. Unless someone was suborning the entire hospital pathology department, no way were these faked. They even found some funny proteins we've seen in blood tests from other Immortals, but they don't explain the symptoms since Mac's got them too. So do you, probably. We figure that they're the main difference between your blood and mortal blood." He finished the last of his coffee and pushed the cup away. "Anyway, Methos just kept right being sick, and questions were being asked that we couldn't afford to answer. Gordon suggested we move him to the private clinic he runs - the one you went to. And then when we started getting word of other Immortals going down, we thought the best thing was to keep them all at the same place, to minimise the risk of the word getting out about you guys. Mac coordinated things. Fortunately the clinic wasn't busy - the whole place's now devoted to the Immortals and trying to find an answer for this." 

Something immediately rang false to her. "Doesn't it seem a little strange that MacLeod knows all these people personally?" Although they were on the pavement, and no one was that close by, she was conscious of the numbers of people out taking in the fine weather, and the hovering waitress. She kept her voice low. 

Joe actually grinned as he answered her in the same discreet tone. "Amanda, Mac knows _every_ goddamn immortal." She had to smile at that. "How is he?" 

"Exhausted. He looks nearly as bad as poor Methos. Joe, we have to get him out of that clinic...." They were interrupted as the waitress took away their cups and asked if they wanted to order more. They waited until she left before resuming their conversation 

Joe held his hands up. "Hold up there, Amanda. I know you don't like us much, but Methos needs twenty-four hour care. Dammit, he can't even wipe his own ass, and he can't eat or drink ... it's killing MacLeod," he added softly. 

"What's killing him is spending every waking minute sitting in that dark little room watching the man he loves die by inches," she said firmly. 

"What difference does it make where Methos is?" Unconsciously Joe began to fiddle with the sugar cubes - that told her he wasn't entirely comfortable with her point. 

"Look, Joe. He must know he's not home, not on holy ground. Don't tell me that part of him doesn't know he's not safe. And Duncan is eating fast food and spending all his time in a chair, protecting him and watching him ... well, die, basically. I'm going to get the two of them to holy ground so at least MacLeod can rest sometimes. I'm sure Methos will know the difference. We can tell, you know. And you never know, it might actually help him get better." 

Joe smiled as if in sympathy with her impassioned speech. "Well, if I can help, you tell me. Watching those two is breaking my heart." 

She patted his hand understandingly. "Do we have _any_ idea what the cause is?" 

"Squat. Gordon's as frustrated as Mac is. The blood work is normal, there's nothing to suggest infection, but on the other hand there's no known poison that persists this long. He's got the whole organisation working on it." 

She didn't think this was much consolation but said nothing of that to her companion. She looked at her watch and realised she'd left Duncan alone for over an hour. "Joe, I have to get back to MacLeod. But I might need your help in persuading him." 

"You've got somewhere in mind?" 

"A friend of mine sometimes lets me use an old convent he's converted into a private home. I'm going to talk to him, see if the boys can stay there." 

Joe arched an eyebrow. "Him? Do I know this guy?' 

Amanda swatted him with the menu. "No, you don't and it's none of your business. You just do your bit, and I'll handle the rest." 

He turned serious. "You know, Methos is real sick. I don't know if Mac will agree to him be moved - the doc's not gonna be happy." 

"That's _my_ worry, Joe. Now, shoo. I've got a Highlander to baby." 

Her Highlander was still sound asleep, and Amanda traced the worry lines that seemed etched permanently into his olive-skinned brow. Joe was right - Duncan was going to fight her. Well, he'd fought her before over matters just as serious, and she hadn't always lost. 

She amused herself by poking about, flicking through bills and letters - all MacLeod's. Methos had been living there for a few months on and off before the attack, but there was surprisingly little sign of his habitation. One or two books she didn't recognise, a couple of unfamiliar CDs. Perhaps he didn't want to commit to the barge - she wondered if he still kept that rather smart little apartment and whether he would mind if she used it from time to time. 

She sighed, remembering the apartment and the few times she'd visited him there - she missed the old bastard, she really did, and she knew he was good for Duncan, although she'd been a _little_ put out when MacLeod had broken the not terribly surprising news that he and Methos were an item. She had her own interests as she always did, but having Duncan there was like knowing there was a big friendly dog waiting for you when you got home. She'd got used to him being around. 

Right now, her pet was looking ragged and scruffy. She called a restaurant she preferred and ordered supper for later on, something that could be rewarmed if necessary, and watched over MacLeod, one hand kept proprietarily on his leg. Finally, Mac stretched and yawned, looking around, dazed and obviously trying to work out who the Presence belonged to. She didn't miss the brief flare of hope as he clearly thought first of Methos before his expression darkened as he realised it couldn't be. 

"Hi, Duncan. Feeling better?" she asked. 

He grunted something unintelligible, but he did look slightly less worn. "What time is it?" 

"Nearly seven...." 

He didn't let her finish. "Jesus, Methos...." He leapt from the couch but she jumped up and headed him off. 

" _Where_ do you think you're going?" 

"I have to get back to the clinic." 

"Duncan, Methos is fine. It's you I'm worried about." 

He pushed her away. "I'm okay. I have to go, he'll wonder where I am." 

"MacLeod, you told me yourself he's sedated. He probably never knows you're there when you are. Now sit down, have some wine and behave or I swear to God, I'll arrange for _you_ to be sedated." 

He blinked at her in confusion. "Amanda .... what are you doing?" 

She sat down next to him. "Honey, let me look after you tonight. Methos will be okay and you need some TLC. I've ordered some food and all you need to do is relax." 

"He needs me." 

"Yes. But you need you too. I'm worried about you, Duncan." 

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Amanda allowed Duncan to pay for the meal. In the homeliness of getting plates and cutlery and serviettes together, Duncan's grumpiness disappeared, and he fell on the food like he hadn't eaten for days. He probably hadn't, Amanda thought. Not properly. He looked much better when he was done, so much more like the man she knew and loved so well, that she smiled at him happily. 

"What?" he asked, puzzled at her expression. 

"That's my Highlander," she said contentedly. "Now, I want you to go shower and then come to bed." 

"Come to...? Amanda...." he began sorrowfully, already apologising for denying her. 

"MacLeod, I won't do anything you don't want me to. But you surely don't expect me to sleep on the sofa, do you?" She looked at him with a carefully judged mixture of innocence and hurt surprise which worked exactly as predicted. 

"No, of course not. I'm sorry, I'm not thinking too clearly...." 

"No, I know, honey. Go and wash, you stink," she said with a smile that took the sting from her words. She changed into a rather attractive green silk gown, and subtly reapplied her perfume. She enjoyed seeing his automatic response to her appearance, the slight smile that lifted his mouth and his eyes when he returned, sweeter smelling, and slightly revived by the shower. "Now, that's better. You're letting yourself go, Duncan. Methos wouldn't appreciate that." 

His face fell. "I just wish he was here to tell me that himself," and to Amanda's regret, his eyes began to glisten. Damn, she could never resist those big brown eyes, and certainly not when he was about to cry. She came to him and held him close, resting her head on his shoulder. 

"You have to have faith, Duncan. Methos is tough. If anyone can come through this, he can." 

"We don't know what we're fighting. If we just knew what the hell it was. It's driving me crazy, not knowing. None of the Watchers have ever seen anything like it. The only one who might know anything about this is Methos - and we can't ask him." 

That this was extremely inconvenient - or extremely convenient, depending on your point of view - was not lost on her, but right now, her Scot was her biggest concern. She waited in exasperation and barely concealed impatience as Duncan insisted on calling the clinic and checking on Methos' - naturally unchanged - condition, before he would go to bed. "Don't do this to yourself, honey," she said, taking the phone from him and hanging up. "Worrying yourself sick isn't helping him." 

"I miss him, Amanda. I don't know when he'll ever come home again." 

She hadn't been going to mention her ideas to MacLeod until she had gathered more facts and Duncan was more himself, but the hopelessness in his eyes made her shift the agenda up. "Duncan, I want to talk to you." 

He looked at her in obvious puzzlement, and maybe a little suspicion, but let himself be led to the big familiar bed, where she snuggled contentedly into his arms. Oh this was _good_ , she thought, tiny twinges of jealousy rising up before being ruthlessly quelled. Not now, girl. "MacLeod, what would you say if I could offer you a comfortable place, on holy ground, where you and Methos could stay until whenever this ... this _thing_ ... is over." 

He missed the importance of her question. "He's sick, Amanda. Very sick...." 

"Yes, I know, Duncan, but Methos must hate being in hospital. He knows he's vulnerable there." 

"I'm looking after him - he's safe," he said defensively. 

"Yes, honey, I know, don't go getting all uppity. I'm trying to help, okay?" 

He kissed her hair. "I'm sorry. Tell me more." 

"I'm just saying - he's doped up, he can't see, he doesn't know if the Immortals he feels are you or some Hunter. And the Watchers aren't the most reliable organisation now, are they?" 

"He used to be part of it." 

"And he left when they started killing Immortals again and shot one of his friends. Duncan, what are they doing at the hospital that you and me and a trained nurse couldn't do just as well on holy ground?" she asked, her tone only slightly wheedling. 

He looked at her assessingly, his eyes gone a little cold and unfriendly. "Are you going to be here in six months? A year? What if this goes on for years and years?" 

"What if?" she answered him back, but more gently than he had done. "Do you really think Methos would want to live like this for decades?" 

"You think I should take his head," he said roughly, moving away. "Damn you, Amanda, I knew you'd bring this up.... Why can't you leave him alone?" 

The strength of his reaction surprised and annoyed her. "Because I care about you, Duncan. I care about _both_ of you and I know Methos and I know it must be a living hell for him!" She looked directly at him and he stared back unrelentingly. "You really think I would take advantage of this situation?" 

"I...." 

She didn't wait to hear the cruel words she knew he was going to say and crawled out of the bed so she could yell at him properly. "Duncan MacLeod, what sort of bitch do you think I am? Methos is sick, and you're wasting away. Blind Freddy could see if anything happened to him because of me, you'd take my head yourself! I'm not _stupid_!" 

He came off the bed and grabbed her, holding her against her struggles to get away from him. "Amanda. Amanda! Stop it. I _don't_ think that. I'm sorry, come back to bed, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

She allowed him to drag her back onto the bed, and to kiss her in apology. "So what did you mean?" 

He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him and sighed heavily. "It's only what I keep thinking he'd want, but I can't do that. I can't take his head, and I can't let anyone else do it." 

"Of course you can't, honey, I never thought you could." 

"But you said ..." 

"I asked you what you would do if it went on for years, Duncan. And I guess I got my answer. But my preferred solution would be to put an end to this crap and let the two of you get back to playing house together," she said bravely, lying only a little. 

He smiled crookedly. "So, you have an answer?" 

"Not yet," she admitted. "Give me some more time. But I'm serious about you taking him to holy ground. I'm closer to his age than you are, I think I know how he must be feeling about this, even if they have got him drugged up to the eyeballs. There has to be a better answer than that. What sort of doctors are they, for God's sake?" 

"The only ones who know about Immortals," he said dryly. "But for what it's worth, Gordon seems to be competent. Joe checked out his references - he's well qualified." 

Again with the first name, she noted. It wasn't like Duncan to be so friendly with a strange Watcher. But she held her counsel - for now. "Could it hurt to get some tests done outside this clinic?" 

"How? Amanda, I don't know anything about this sort of thing. I don't know anyone who does, except Grace, and I can't get hold of her. We're in their hands. For what it's worth, I'm not exactly happy about it." 

"So back to my original question. You've got medical training, I've nursed the sick. What can the clinic do that we can't?" 

Duncan gave this serious thought. "It's a lot of work. And I won't even consider it if it makes him suffer at all in any way - he's in enough pain." 

She stroked his hair, pulling a face at the tangles he'd let creep in. "Is it awful for him?" 

"More than you can possibly imagine. I don't know how mortals can stand it. Watching him is hard enough. Robert de Valicourt is just about out of his mind worrying about Gina. I think he's going to crack if we can't find a cure for this soon." 

"So, why don't we talk to this Gordon guy, and see how practical it is?" 

"Where is this place?" 

She told him about the convent, and then switched to some lighter gossip, seeing how the Highlander's eyes were drooping and not wanting to wake him again. She pushed him onto his own pillow, and curled around him, regretting slightly that she hadn't been able to persuade him to make love, but not really expecting it, considering. She fell asleep herself, pondering the situation and what she could do about it. 

After a solid night's sleep, Amanda felt calmer and Duncan was more receptive to the idea of springing Methos, discussing the possible details over breakfast. But he refused to do anything until they both talked to Dr Hudson, which was arranged simply by going to the clinic and entering Methos' room. Amanda saw a tall man, rather good looking in a weedy blond way, who was looking at _her_ with a mixture of lust, interest and curiosity with which she had become wearily familiar over the centuries. "You must be Amanda," he said, extending a hand, which she shook daintily. "This _is_ an honour." 

"And _you_ must be Dr Hudson," she said, as winningly as she knew how. 

"Please, call me Gordon, everyone does." Right on cue. "We're very informal here." 

"So I noticed. How is he?" 

The doctor grimaced. "Same as usual. No worse, at least. Duncan," he said, turning to the Highlander, "I've altered the balance of his meds again, to see if we can give him some more time awake. But you need to let me know if you think he's not handling it." 

Oh, you're good, baby, Amanda thought admiringly. Just the right amount of concern, friendliness and competence. Get on the right side of the Highlander and he'll support you forever. Literally, she thought, mentally computing the cost of the original paintings on the walls, the curtains, the light fittings. Didn't stint himself much, did Dr Hudson. She smelled a rat. And she was _never_ wrong about _Rattus rattus homosapiens_ . 

She waited patiently as Duncan and the doctor discussed Methos' care in low reverent voices. She hoped to God Methos couldn't hear this crap - she thought she would throw up if she had to listen to it much longer. But she smiled brightly as Duncan said he had some other things to ask Gordon about, and the doctor suggested they go to the relatives room to chat. 

MacLeod seemed hesitant in bringing up her suggestion, so she took control of the conversation, smiling charmingly at Gordon. "I was just saying to Duncan how I felt that Adam would probably be comforted by being on holy ground - not," she added hastily, seeing he was beginning to bridle, "that there's the least thing wrong with your beautiful hospital. It's just that, well, we have _special_ needs. I'm sure you can understand that?" she purred, touching his hand. 

He wasn't a soft touch - she hadn't expected he would be. "Miss Darieux ..." 

"Amanda, please, " she murmured. Two could play that game, after all. 

"Duncan could have told you that this clinic has been completely reorganised for the needs of your people. Extra security, total privacy - no unannounced visitors. I assure you that every care has been taken and that our patients are receiving the best possible treatment." 

"Oh, I'm sure of that, Gordon. I can tell you really see to every detail," she said, looking at the expensive furnishings. "But couldn't you supervise Adam's treatment at home? I mean, don't lots of doctors do that now?" She gave him an innocent, guileless smile. It had taken _decades_ to perfect that look. 

He spoke carefully, as if to a dimwit. "Adam - Mr Pierson - is very unwell. I don't think moving him would assist his care in any way." 

"But would it _harm_ him? I mean, if Duncan here wasn't so stressed, and he knew Adam was safe from other immortals, wouldn't that help?" She knew that he knew that she knew he wasn't buying the sweet innocent act, but she also knew that he didn't want to yell at her in front of his patient's partner and a major cash cow. 

"Miss Darieux ...." 

"Amanda ..." she repeated politely, taking an evil delight in the way his jaw tensed up. 

"Amanda. I don't think you really understand the full situation, and with respect, Duncan _is_ Mr Pierson's named contact..." 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset anyone. I just thought that it couldn't hurt to suggest it, since Duncan is obviously feeling the strain and after all, you really don't have any idea how long this will go on for, do you?" 

MacLeod apparently hadn't picked up on the hostility, but now was looking at the doctor in confusion. "Are you saying it would damage Adam if we moved him at all? I wasn't thinking he would have to stay here for years. I guess I wasn't thinking that far down the track." 

Well done, Duncan, Amanda thought. It's _finally_ penetrating that lovely thick skull of yours that the good doctor doesn't _want_ Methos to ever leave. 

"No, of course not, but we just don't know how things will progress. You know I've got researchers on this almost round the clock." 

_Very_ good, darling, Amanda thought. Throw in a little guilt, a little intellectual superiority. 

"I didn't mean to imply you weren't trying to find a cure, Gordon," Duncan said apologetically. "But I've given this some thought and I've got to admit having Adam at home with me is pretty tempting." 

"Even if he's not as comfortable?" 

"No, of course not," Duncan back-pedalled. Come on, baby, Amanda urged silently. Don't fail me now. "But if we hired a nurse, and set up a room - and I assume you would keep an eye on him - I'd do everything necessary, you know that." 

Amanda made sure the satisfaction she felt at the doctor's audible sigh didn't appear on her face. The guy was beaten, and it hadn't even come to swords. "Well, if you're really set on this, Duncan, of course I'll help. I'll make a list of things you'll need to get so you can arrange a private nurse and all the equipment. Joe will have a list of people - you know, _our_ people." She nearly rolled her eyes with disgust at the idea. "Oh, and I'll have to make sure you have enough morphine and sedative for him, and you'll need to have the nutrient drips supplied. Right, well, there's no hurry. I can give you the information, and you and Miss Darieux can talk about it some more." Gordon stood. "Now, please excuse me? I have to check on the other patients." 

Duncan shook his hand. "I really appreciate this, Gordon. Sorry to cause you any trouble." 

Amanda noted the doctor was prepared to be gracious in defeat. "Not at all. I know this must be very difficult for you. I'll see you both later." 

She watched him go before turning back to MacLeod. "There you go, honey. Methos is going to be back with you soon." 

The faintly apologetic look on Duncan's face had been replaced with a frown as soon as the doctor left the room. "What's going on, Amanda?" he asked sharply. 

"What do you mean, Duncan?" 

"Don't give me that. You and Gordon. You don't like him, do you?" 

She dropped the pretence of innocence. "He's a mortal, Duncan. And he's a Watcher." 

"Joe's a mortal and a Watcher." 

"Joe, I know. I don't know the first thing about this guy, and neither do you. I'm only saying and doing exactly what Methos would if he were well." 

Duncan's face twisted in pain - she knew she'd struck home with that. "We still have to get this place - you need to talk to your friend. And find a nurse. I'm not sure this isn't going to be too much to take on." 

"Duncan, darling, it'll be fine. Methos will thank you, I know that. You concentrate on him, let me handle the details. The house is perfect, I've stayed there before." 

He looked at his hands as if the solution to the problem might be found there. "I still don't know why this is so important to you." He looked up at her again. 

"Because this could be me," she said with passion. "Or you. I know exactly how I would feel if it were me in that bed. Methos is probably going crazy wondering who's going to take his head, knowing there's nothing he can do about it. I can't bear the idea of him suffering more than he has to. Looking after your people at home is what you and I and he know best, MacLeod. Hospitals aren't for us, you know that." 

And that had also struck home, she saw. This place gave her the creeps, and for the life of her, she couldn't understand Duncan's acceptance of the situation. Maybe she'd begun to shake him up. She could only hope. 

Methos was being bathed when they went back in. Duncan took the cloth from the nurse and took over the task, cleaning the damaged, frail body more carefully than he would have dusted spun glass. Amanda felt tears filling her eyes. If it weren't for the Presence and the pained, rasping breathing, she would have thought the skeletal creature on the bed was already dead. What could possibly do this to an Immortal? 

Even the feather-light touches raised red weals on Methos' white skin, and it seemed that even with the heavy sedation, he was feeling pain, mirrored in Duncan's drawn brows and grim mouth. She stepped away so he could whisper to Methos, not wanting to have her old lover's misery brought even more forcibly home to her. She waited for nearly an hour as Duncan talked to Methos, touching his hair softly, helping the nurse turn him and inject him and subject him to the indignities of the bedridden. I'd rather be dead, she thought, shuddering, and knew in her heart that Methos probably felt the same, despite his well-known predilection for surviving. This was a hell peculiarly designed for Immortals. 

She knew Duncan wasn't going to move from Methos' bedside all day, which suited her - she had people to talk to. She kissed his cheek. "I've got some things to do, but I'll come back at seven and get you, okay?" 

"All right." He took her hand. "Amanda, I didn't say it yet - but thanks. Things already don't seem so bad now you're here. I know Methos appreciates it too." 

Privately, she hoped Methos had no idea what was happening to him, but she nodded. "Just think of all the lovely ways you both can be grateful to me. I'll see you later, honey." 

On her way out she nearly collided with a wild-eyed, pale-haired man she only just recognised as Robert de Valicourt. It was obvious he didn't remember _her_ at all, because he pushed her against the wall, his hands around her throat. "Who the hell are you?" he shouted. "Have you come for my Gina?" 

"No," she tried to gasp, but then, thankfully, Duncan's strong hands were prying away those of the madman. 

"Robert, this is Amanda, remember? She was at your wedding, for God's sake!" 

Robert looked at her in confusion. "Oh. I'm sorry, it's just ...." His voice trailed off. 

She held out one hand in conciliation, the other rubbing at her neck. "I understand. How is she?" she asked softly. 

The man gave a sob. "She's dying. Mac, I don't think I can stand this any more." 

Duncan enfolded him in a bear hug, sending a knowing look Amanda's way over his shoulder. "I know, Robert. Look, why don't you go back to your home and get some sleep. I'll be here all day, I'll make sure she's safe." 

"I can't, Mac. She's so frightened, so alone. I'm all she has." The man looked nearly as bad as Methos did, and Amanda was becoming familiar with the signs of hysteria and exhaustion. She took over from Duncan, taking the weary Immortal aside. 

"Listen, Robert, I'm going into town. Why don't you give me a lift, go get some rest and you and I can come back here this evening. MacLeod will look after Gina, you know that." 

Duncan added his voice to the argument, along with a friendly hand on Robert's shoulder. "Yeah, go on, Robert. Amanda kidnapped me yesterday, made me eat and sleep. I feel a lot better today." He smiled at her. 

"Come on, honey." Just as Mac had done the day before, Robert let Amanda take charge. She plucked the keys from his lax hands, and got no protest from him as she took her place behind the wheel of his Lamborghini. He checked that she knew the way to the chateau and then stared out the window, not saying a word. "Tell me how she got sick," she asked, not wanting to waste an opportunity to find out more about this mystery. 

He roused himself. "Oh. She went to lunch with a friend and felt unwell. She collapsed - fortunately our friend had enough sense to call me and not an ambulance. But she was so sick, Amanda. She screamed with pain until her throat gave out, and there were all these hideous sores on her body. I didn't know what to do - I was just about to call Mac myself when he telephoned and told me what had happened to Adam. It was the only good thing about it - that he knew a doctor who could treat her. But I miss her and she's just disappearing ...." 

He began to weep, and she patted his arm, keeping onehand firmly on the wheel. Part of her was furious at the unknown force which had reduced such good kind men to shells like this. Mostly she pitied for the way the bonds of love trapped them in this horrible nightmare. 

She kept her speculations to herself as she drove the rest of the way to the beautiful chateau. Robert's manservant greeted them and took his master in hand immediately. "Robert needs food and rest," she told him. "I'll be back at six thirty to take him to the clinic. Could you call me a taxi, please?" 

Robert straightened up, his manners intact. "No, please, Amanda, borrow the car. I'll see you later." 

She thanked him, but just as she was about to get back into the vehicle, he seized her hand. "Do you think we'll find a cure for this?" he said, searching her face for a miracle she couldn't offer. 

"Yes, we will. I know we will," she said firmly with an assurance she didn't feel. He didn't need to know her worries too. He gave her a tired smile and she watched his servant take him inside. 

Right, now for Joe and some answers. As she drove, she called her friend with the convent and he was more than happy to hear from her. "Of course, my love, anything you want. The place is empty now. How long do you think you'll want it?" 

"I don't know, Henri. Can we settle on a month and see how it goes from there?" 

"That would be fine, Amanda. You let me know when you want it and I'll arrange it. Any chance of meeting you for dinner soon?" 

"Yes, but I'll have to let you know. My friend is very ill and we're all so worried ..." She didn't have to feign her concern. 

"Of course. Give me a call when you're ready." 

She signed off and thought hard about who she could ask for help with this. She needed a doctor, a discreet one - she knew one in Paris who would do just about anything, for a price. Well, she could always borrow MacLeod's credit card again - she didn't think he'd mind if it led to Methos getting better. First, she had to pump one Joe Dawson for information. 

He was setting up the bar for the day and grinned as she came in. "How's our boy?" 

"MacLeod is fine. Adam still looks like crap. Joe, I need some information." 

"Sure - want some coffee?" 

She nodded and sat at the bar while he busied himself with the coffee maker. "How did you guys get a doctor to be a Watcher, anyhow?" 

"It was kind of an accident - he saw an Immortal get knocked down by a car, went to help the 'dying'," he made the quote marks with his fingers, "man and of course saw him heal. We made him an offer he couldn't refuse - actually, when he learned more about Immortals, he was keen to get in on it." 

"And his clinic?" 

"Well, you see, that's a real sad business. It was his wife's really - she ran an eating disorders clinic there. She was a fair bit older than him, helped him through med school, and he'd only been practicing for five years when she died of breast cancer. The clinic wasn't really a going concern after that - he let the Watchers use it from time to time for any of our people who needed a private place to recuperate from surgery, that sort of thing. It was really a stroke of luck it was available when all this went down." 

"Yes, it was. What's his speciality?" 

"He hasn't got one - yet. He was going to be an endocrinologist but his wife's illness and death put a stop to that. He's a good doctor though, if that's what you're getting at." 

"I wasn't getting at anything, Joe, I'm just trying to find out more about the person I'm entrusting the two most precious people in my life to. You'd do the same, if it were you." 

"I already did," he said dryly. "Ran all the checks I could on him. He's clean as a whistle - he's no Horton, if that's what you think. Or a Dan Geiger." 

She shuddered delicately. "Thank God for that. Duncan seems to have come around to the idea of moving Methos onto holy ground, and the doctor's agreed ..." 

Joe whistled. "He did? Okay, now that's a surprise. Have you got somewhere for them to go?" 

She nodded. "My friend's letting me have his place, and we just have to arrange a bed and a nurse and all the drugs." 

"That's gonna cost a packet, for sure." 

"And the clinic isn't?" Joe looked down at his drink, obviously embarrassed by her question. "Come on, Joe. I didn't think the Watchers were running a charity." 

"It's just the same as Mac would have had to pay anywhere else, except a little more for the extra security. He's getting a good deal." 

"I'm sure he is, Joe. I didn't suggest this to save Duncan money. I just want him to stay sane. If you ask me, Robert de Valicourt needs to bring Gina home as well, but I don't think he can cope with the nursing." 

"Yeah, you're probably right. The poor guy's just about a basket case." 

"Joe, you know the Chronicles of all the victims and their partners. Is there _any_ reason that anyone would want to hurt all of them? Not just Mac, or Methos, but Gina and Robert and the others?" 

He shook his head a little in exasperation. "No, there isn't and you're barking up the wrong tree, Amanda. There's just no way this could be foul play. It has to be something to do with Immortal healing, at least that's Gordon's best guess." 

Gordon again, she thought sardonically, everyone's favourite little mortal Watcher good guy healer. It was her nature to be suspicious of the saintly. Too often in her experience, the most conspicuously good had the most to hide. She had to admit, that was the _only_ real reason she was suspicious of Gordon himself, but the situation was too weird. Duncan couldn't think straight for worrying about Methos, and Joe couldn't think clearly for worrying about Duncan. That was where she had to come in. 

Her other helpful friend could only be of limited use for the moment, but when she called in on him and told him the set-up, he did give her some good ideas, a little instruction and some advice along with a couple of useful little items. Fortunately, she could conduct the conversation without mentioning the tricky matter of Immortality, but to her, that was almost incidental. This was about who, what, when, where and why - and it didn't matter that the victims had a little extra up their sleeves. André was used to the need for discretion, and she left his informal office feeling more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it all. 

She had other things to do in Paris, and of course there was always shopping, although her heart wasn't really in it. There had been plenty of ups and downs with MacLeod over their long, long friendship but this was the most frustrating time she could remember. It was a little galling that all Duncan's energies were focussed on someone else, but she was fond of Methos too, and she wouldn't wish his fate on a rabid dog. Her frustration intensified when she returned to Chateau de Valicourt where Robert was waiting eagerly for her, desperate to return to his stricken wife's side. He had at least shaved and bathed, and presumably eaten, but had obviously not slept at all. She figured that like MacLeod, he was only functioning at about fifty percent capacity. None of the Immortals involved in this business would last five minutes if someone came for their heads. 

Robert drove and was, all things considering, remarkably cheerful, although his mood darkened with every kilometre they drew closer to the clinic. He held the door open for her as she stepped out, and took her arm. "Back into the breach, eh?" 

She squeezed his hand as he slipped away to Gina's room. She made her way to Methos' room, where Duncan looked as grim as she'd ever seen him, his hands in fists on Methos' bed, staring intently at the still form. "Honey? Is everything okay?" 

He looked up at her, fresh tears in his dark eyes. "You missed it all, thank God." 

She pulled up a chair and took his hands in hers, her stomach tying itself in knots - what now?  "What happened, Duncan?" 

"He began convulsing - fits every few minutes. I think he's got more chemicals than blood in his body now. He only stopped about an hour ago." 

"Oh, Duncan," she said in sympathy. "Is he awake now?" 

He shook his head. "No, he's unconscious. Amanda, we can't move him while he's like this - I couldn't handle an attack like that without Gordon's help." 

Well, wasn't that convenient too. "No, of course not, honey. But once he's stable again, we can think about it. Henri's ready to have you come to his place as soon as you are." She hesitated - this could be difficult. "Duncan, I have another friend - a doctor - I saw him today...." 

"What the hell for, Amanda? Surely you don't think Gordon's not competent?" he said, anger rising in his voice. 

This was simply hysteria born of tiredness, so she took great care with her reply. "Not at all, MacLeod. I just thought, well, they always tell people to get a second opinion. It's what I always do if I want something appraised." 

"He's not some fucking diamond!" he said fiercely. 

"No, he's a lot more precious, Duncan, so don't get on my back, okay?" He looked away, still angry, and shed pulled him back to her with a hand on his shoulder. "Look, all I'm talking about is getting a few independent tests done..." 

"No. I'm not going to let anyone else near him. I'm prepared to move him to holy ground because you're right, I think he'll feel better, but I'm not going to let some mortal quack poke him and hurt him." 

"André's not a quack ..." she retorted, but jumped as Methos moaned suddenly. Instantly Duncan was leaning over him. "Is he all right?" she asked. 

Duncan listened a little longer before nodding. "Yeah, I think so. You're waking up now, aren't you?" he said to the still form. "Can you feel Amanda here? She's worried about you, Methos. She's looking after me so I can look after you, isn't that good of her?" 

No response from the lump of humanity, and Amanda wondered who in hell Duncan thought he was kidding. Despite appearances, maybe it was he who was closer to breakdown than Robert de Valicourt after all. 

Patiently, she waited while Duncan spoke his nonsense to Methos until he was satisfied that his lover was indeed asleep or unconscious again. The Highlander rose, stretched and announced he needed to use the bathroom and to drop in to see how Gina and Robert were, which suited her fine since she could put plan B into action. Just as André had demonstrated in his office earlier that day, she wrapped the tourniquet around Methos' arm, then carefully drew the required amount of blood from the vein in the corner of his elbow as she had watched André do to her. "Remember, you have to get the needle inside the vein, darling, not through it," she heard him saying, as she willed her hands to stay steady and keep her touch light. Just like cracking a safe, girl, she told herself. She struck oil at her first try. 

Drawing a shaky, relieved breath, she popped the tubes and a discarded ampoule into the decoratively wrapped boxed she'd prepared in advance and then undid the strap on Methos' arm, wincing at the horrible weals that appeared where pressure had been applied. She pulled the sleeve of his gown down and the sheet up to hide it - the old man must really be in bad shape, she thought, seeing how long it was taking for the relatively slight injuries to begin to heal. She hoped he hadn't felt any of it. She apologised mentally to Methos for the pain she was causing him, but she hoped it might lead to the end of the greater one, if she was on the right track. She sat down and waited, her eyes fixed on that sightless face, willing, as MacLeod had no doubt done from day one, that somehow Methos would suddenly roll over and rise from this nightmare. But of course he did not. 

When Duncan returned, she urged him to come back to the barge, and got little argument. Unsuspecting, he stopped at her direction at André's anonymous office so she could drop off her parcel, believing her cover story that she'd forgotten to deliver a birthday present earlier. Perhaps if he hadn't been so tired, he'd have been more suspicious, but he just seemed glad that she had been quick about her errand. 

All her good work of the day before seemed to have been undone, and even Duncan acknowledged this. "You're right about one thing," he said. "I can't keep this up. If the clinic had somewhere for all of us to stay, it wouldn't be so bad, but it's not big enough." 

"It's still a hospital when you get down to it, MacLeod. You and Methos don't belong there. Did Gordon say how long it might be before Methos would be stable again?" 

"Oh, just a day or so. He gave me a list of the things I need to buy, and a couple of names of trustworthy nurses - Watcher relatives, so they know about Immortals." 

Amanda didn't grimace at that only because she had long practice at keeping her feelings to herself. "Let me organise the things you need, and you pick the nurses - get a pretty one for Methos, won't you?" 

He smiled sadly at her. "He can't see, Amanda." 

"I know, but he'll know, trust me. How soon do you want to move? I need to let Henri know, and it's not fair to keep him dangling." 

He rubbed his face. "As soon as possible. Get things up and running as soon as you can, and we'll move him as soon as Gordon says okay."

"You've really come around to this, haven't you?" She nestled against him, sipping the wine she'd poured out for both of them. 

"It was seeing Robert that convinced me. The poor guy's going nuts. If this works for Methos, then maybe we can do the same for Gina and the others." 

"Sounds like a plan." 

"Yeah." He tipped his head back on the chair, exhaustion plain. She began a gentle massage of his shoulders which led to massaging other areas, and before she really knew it, they were kissing. He pulled away. "I cannae ..." he whispered. 

Damn, she thought, but laid her cheek against his. "I understand, MacLeod. But I don't think Methos would mind..." 

"It's no that, Amanda, he'd be there with a camera if he could." She felt his small grin against her face. "I just feel bad about enjoying myself while he's ... you know ... like that...." 

They'd known each other long enough that all she had to do was look at him, and eventually he sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I just don't much feel like making love." 

She got off the couch to find her handbag. "What the hell are you doing, Amanda?" he said in irritation. 

"I've just got to write that one down in my diary. Duncan MacLeod declined sex." 

He grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her down as she laughed. "You're a cheeky besom, Amanda." He kissed her gently. "I do love you, you know." 

"I know, honey. I understand too. This is tough, I know. I just thank God that you're not in there with him, that would be too much." 

"It's lucky too - the Watchers wouldn't have made contact with the other sick Immortals if Joe and I hadn't pushed for it." 

Yeah, real lucky, MacLeod, she thought. 

Moving a critically ill bedridden Immortal was a lot more hassle than she'd thought it would be. Two sets of personal belongings had to be moved and installed, and one of several downstairs bedrooms converted to a fully fitted sick room, completely with monitors, alarms and motorised bed. That was just the official stuff - she had other, covert matters to sort out. After a few days of it, she was running on fumes - MacLeod offered to help but she wanted him to continue watching Methos. She really didn't trust the clinic staff and MacLeod was better than no protection at all. 

It took the best part of a week to arrange the delivery of the equipment to Henri's house, and for Mac to hire two nurses who would, between them, provide twenty-four hour cover. By then, and with obvious reluctance, Gordon had approved the move. It was hard for Amanda to keep the conversation she'd had with André to herself, but after MacLeod's initial reaction, she wanted to get more evidence together before risking a further attempt to convince him. The blood samples had, disappointingly, been completely clear. "So apart from the morphine, there were no other drugs?" she'd asked. 

"Morphine? There wasn't _anything_ in the blood, Amanda. Some drugs break down and you can't detect them, but the opiates are different." 

"But he's drugged to the limit, MacLeod told me. Are you sure? Did you mix the samples up?" 

André had no patience with her question. "Amanda, you stick to stealing and I'll sort out the pathology results, okay? There were no opiates or opiate breakdown products in the sample you gave me. Are _you_ sure you got the right patient?" 

She was horrified, but at least it confirmed her suspicions, even if the good doctor Hudson wasn't necessarily himself convicted just yet. She made a further request of André, which would take twenty-four hours to achieve. By then, Methos should be on holy ground. 

After much discussion at the clinic, they decided the kindest thing was to transport Methos as a corpse since there was just no way they could physically move him without damaging his skin or causing immense pain. She took considerable delight in the sick look on Dr Hudson's handsome face as Duncan carefully stabbed a sedated Methos through the heart. Gathering his wits, Gordon checked the monitors, confirmed death and then signalled that the patient could be lifted onto the waiting gurney before being transported the few kilometres to the convent. Duncan insisted on shifting Methos himself, and as they were about to move, he motioned them to stop before sliding the blindfold off. Amanda's heart bled a little as she saw the pain in Duncan's soft eyes, looking on the sightless closed ones of his lover, as he kissed Methos' brow and then allowed him to be moved. 

She and Duncan followed the private ambulance all the way to the new residence. She kept her hand firmly on her handbag and its precious contents all the way. She didn't dare let Duncan catch sight of them before she'd had a chance to put them in place, and she had to wait until Methos was installed before she could do that. 

The ambulance drivers were Watchers too - such a _useful_ organisation, Amanda thought sourly. They could take you from cradle to grave and beyond - and if they gave you more help than you really wanted, well, did that matter to mortals? Keeping her temper and her tongue in check was becoming increasingly difficult, and only the knowledge that they surely were in the home stretch made it possible at all. Duncan had noticed something was up, that was for sure, because he'd kept shooting her worried looks. Right now, he was concerned with getting Methos into the specially equipped bedroom. It was during all the activity of settling the sick man and attaching the monitors and drips that she managed the switch. Gordon had generously supplied Duncan with two weeks' worth of morphine and sedative - and  André had given her two weeks' supply of the same drugs to swap them with. 

She drifted away from the bustle, making coffee and heating up muffins for everyone. She heard the front door close and the throb of the ambulance's damaged muffler as it drove away, then MacLeod came into the kitchen. "Coffee, great," he said enthusiastically. 

She poured him a cup and passed him a muffin which he wolfed down. "Is he all settled?" she asked. 

"Yeah, as good as he was at the clinic. This was a brilliant idea, Amanda. I love this place already." 

She smiled at Duncan's face, already a little more relaxed for being safe on holy ground. Even if her scheme didn't work, she hadn't been exaggerating her feelings on the subject. "Have you seen the garden? It'd be perfect for workouts, you know. You're getting out of shape. Pudgy even." 

His outrage was fake, she knew that. "Pudgy! I'll give you pudgy, woman." She giggled as he pursued her out into the open air, then he stopped dead as he took in the loveliness of their surroundings. "This is perfect. I haven't seen anything but the barge and the bloody hospital for weeks. Do you think Henri would sell this place?" 

She linked her arm through his. "He could be persuaded - for a price. There's plenty of places on holy ground to choose from, if you know where to look." 

"Yeah, but this is good, being close to the clinic." 

Screw the damn clinic, she nearly blurted out, but instead smiled sweetly at him. "Yes, it is. Now, let's get _you_ settled." 

She figured nothing much would happen until evening, if she was right. If. She found her stomach was knotting up with worry as night approached. If she was wrong about this, Methos would be suffering worse than ever, and Duncan would never forgive her. 

At ten o'clock, after Duncan had fallen into an exhausted sleep, she stepped into the sick room. The nurse - who, despite her request to Duncan, was more _jolie laide_ than _jolie_ \- looked up in polite enquiry. "Suzanne, I wonder if I could ask a favour of you? Would you let me sit with Adam tonight?" 

"Mr MacLeod ....?" 

"He won't mind, not this once. I've got nursing training, you know. Adam's a very old friend and I'd just like to spend some time with him. I'll look after him as if he was Duncan, I swear." 

"It's not that, Miss Darieux, it's just he'll need two sedative injections, one in an hour, and one at five." 

"Oh, I can do that. Show me what he's being given," as if she didn't know. 

The nurse seemed reassured by her competence, and after extracting a firm promise to call her if there was the slightest problem, stepped out to go to her own room. 

Once she knew the nurse was not going to return, Amanda pulled the canula out of the back of his hand, turned the tap from the drip off, and then stuck the IV tube back under the adhesive dressing. To a casual observer, it would seem the drip was still connected, but she wasn't sure what was in the damn thing, and so it was not going to be putting anything into the old man. She _was_ going to watch carefully over Methos - but she had not the slightest intention of injecting him with any more crap. 

She got comfortable in the armchair, picked up a book, but instead found herself watching the silent man in the bed. Duncan didn't know it, but she and Methos had had a brief fling in the fifteenth century. Torrid and dangerous, a real _amour fou_ , there'd been no way it could last without one of them losing their heads, yet they had parted friends. They remained linked by genuine affection and the bonds of sharing longevity which most Immortals could only dream of. She still had erotic dreams about their liaison occasionally. Of course she hadn't known how old he really was, or what he'd been, but it didn't matter. She was still fond of him, even if they had hardly seen each other for centuries. She'd thought it tremendously funny when Mac had announced who his new pal was, and what he was doing. You clever bastard, she'd thought. Hiding with the Watchers. She touched the once glossy, thick hair, now thin, brittle and fragile, like its owner. There seemed so little of the man she knew so well in the bag of bones lying under the new silk sheets. You better come through for us, old man, she prayed. This had to work. 

She dozed several times, only for a few minutes, but with a high level of watchfulness perfected in a multitude of situations and for many different reasons over time - the slightest movement would have woken her, she knew. So when Methos stirred at dawn, and moaned a little, she was instantly up and leaning over him. A thin wispy sound came from between dry cracked lips, as he moved about restlessly under the sheets. 

"Methos? Can you hear me? It's Amanda, my love." 

"'Man ...man'da?" She could barely hear him. 

"Yes, honey. It's me. Listen, I'm going to take this blindfold off - you keep your eyes closed until I say, all right?" 

She quickly pulled the blinds almost closed, and then gently removed the hated mask. Methos had his eyes obediently shut. "That's good, Methos. Now, I want you to slowly open them. Shut them again if it hurts, okay?" 

"Amanda!" A fierce whisper came from the doorway - dammit, MacLeod. "What the hell are you doing?" 

"Keep your voice down, Duncan and come over here. Okay, Methos. Now." 

She felt Duncan beside her, but her attention was entirely focussed on Methos' eyelids which slowly lifted. Duncan gasped but she ignored him. "Does that hurt?" 

"No," Methos said softly. "Mac?" 

"I'm here, Methos." Duncan reached instinctively for Methos' hand but Amanda saw him stop himself, mindful of Methos' once easily damaged skin. 

"Go ahead, Duncan. I think it's safe now," she told him. 

Hesitantly, Duncan touched Methos' wrist, and when there was no sign of it causing any pain, he took the thin hand more firmly. "Methos? You're feeling better?" 

"Yes, Mac." Methos' voice was a pale shadow of his former deep baritone, but after months of silence, Amanda knew it would be sweet to her Scot's ears. "You're ... a sight for sore eyes." 

Duncan collapsed into the chair Amanda quickly hooked next to the bed. "It's a bloody miracle." 

"A miracle called Amanda," she said tartly, and he looked at her in confusion. 

"Is it holy ground doing this, do you think?" 

She shook her head in exasperation at the man's innocence. "Hardly. I'm going to use the bathroom and make some coffee. You look after him. If Suzanne comes back, do _not_ let her touch him, or give him anything, understand?" 

"But..." 

"No arguments, MacLeod. I'm tired and pissed and in need of coffee. If you or anyone else gets in my way, I might just take someone's head, holy ground or no goddamn holy ground. No one is to lay a finger on Methos until I get back. Promise me." 

"Okay," he agreed, obviously still completely bewildered. She didn't care. She'd been right, and Methos had been sick for months and months for no reason at all. She felt like killing someone, all right. 

Before she left, she disconnected the drip and all the other leads, shoving the mess impatiently away, and raising the blinds to let the glorious early morning light in. Methos watched all that she did without comment. She leaned over to kiss his cheek. "What do you want right now?" 

"Thirsty," he said simply. 

"Okay. I won't be long." Duncan touched her hand as she left, his eyes full of grateful emotion, before turning back to his restored lover. 

She washed up and put the coffee machine on, her eyes filling up as she watched the dark fluid drip. She found she was shaking, and she hugged herself tightly, determined to hold on until this was all completely done. When Methos' perfect eyes had opened, she could have cried for joy. To know he was safe now, they both were - damn, being good was a lot harder than being bad. She sniffled, and blew her nose. She had a call to make before she went upstairs and she didn't feel like explaining a funny voice to Joe Dawson. 

Duncan was arguing with Suzanne when Amanda came back to the room and she snapped. "You, go home," she said bluntly to the nurse. "Adam's recovered, we don't need you. Duncan will pay whatever the notice period is, just get off the premises before I do something unladylike." 

Duncan looked slightly stunned at her uncharacteristic rudeness but she was at the end of her patience with the fucking Watchers. The mortal woman stalked out in high dudgeon, sniffing. Amanda ignored her and went to the bed where Methos was watching proceedings with amusement. "How do you feel, Methos?" 

"Liberated, Amanda. Come here." She bent and he kissed her cheek before sagging back. "Mac tells me I've been like this for months. I still feel like shit." 

"You'll feel better soon enough." She knew, as he surely did, that Immortal healing couldn't restore weight and condition overnight. 

Duncan joined them. "Would somebody _please_ tell me what the hell is going on?" he said in exasperation, but taking a firm grip of Methos' hand as if he never intended to release it. Methos' blessedly clear eyes watched everything curiously. 

Before she started, Amanda poured Duncan coffee from the pot she'd brought in and Methos some juice. "Bless you, Amanda," he said gratefully, his voice a little clearer after drinking the liquid. She drank from her own cup, feeling the warmth and the caffeine re-energising her. 

"Okay, guys. Let me start at the beginning. Anyone who interrupts has to leave the room, okay?" 

"Yes, mistress," Methos said cheekily, if weakly, and she gave him a filthy look. He was the one person they _couldn't_ eject - and he damn well knew it. 

"Duncan, you're not to get mad at me okay?" 

"Amanda, darling, I could forgive you absolutely anything today." 

"Oh, really? Remind me to tell you some other stuff later." He grinned, no doubt thinking she wasn't serious. Well, she supposed she probably wasn't. "Now. I have this friend - a doctor, the one you were so snotty about, MacLeod," raising a warning finger to stop him protesting. "I told him about all these people falling mysteriously ill and the first thing he said was that it reminded him of the Georgi Markov case. Methos, before you got sick, did you feel anything?" 

His eyes widened. "Yes, I damn well did. Like a bee sting, on my bum. I remember because I felt dizzy immediately and then my eyes began to hurt like hell. I don't remember much else - I do remember thinking I'd been poisoned." 

"Amanda, they tested for poison ... oh...." Mac's eyes widened as Methos' had. 

"You see?" she said, completely unable to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. "Anyway, I wondered if it was possible that you had been poisoned by someone who knew you would turn to the Watchers for help. And if that person was then in a position to make sure you were being topped up with the drug, then you would never get better. Right?" 

"Gordon?" Duncan said disbelievingly. "You have to be wrong on this, Amanda." 

"Oh yeah? I took a sample of Methos' blood last week - sorry, old man - and my friend tested it. Said it was clear - even of morphine. And since you'd said he was on so much of the stuff, I was a little surprised, you know?" She spread her hands innocently. "So I switched the ampoules dear Gordon supplied for some genuine ones containing morphine and nothing but. That was yesterday morning. I made sure that between ten last night and now, he hasn't had any drugs of any kind at all. This morning - well, you can see for yourself." 

Obviously Duncan was finding it all too much to take in at once. "It doesn't make any sense. How could he guarantee that he would be the doctor they brought in?" 

"Joe," Methos said into the silence that followed MacLeod's question. 

Amanda nodded. "He's right, Duncan. All the Watchers know about your friendship with him. All Gordon had to do was stick with Joe, and track your movements and Methos'. Even if he hadn't been the first doctor Joe called in, he could come forward with a suggestion about the clinic. When the others were attacked too, he knew that Joe would use your contacts with the others to bring them in. Joe said it himself - apparently there isn't an Immortal you don't know. These people were all your friends and acquaintances. It wasn't completely risk free - but it worked. " 

"I should have seen it," he muttered, as he stood and paced. A walking brood, Amanda recognised the signs. 

"It all makes a twisted sense," Methos said in a soft voice. "I'd have to admire it if I wasn't so angry." 

"Gina." Duncan stopped pacing. "My god - we have to tell them. Right now. Methos, are you saying you were in pain the whole time?" 

"Every bloody second, Mac," Methos said feelingly. "Except when I passed out. My guess is that those ampoules will turn out to have some sort of paralytic in them, not morphine. It feels like every nerve ending, your whole skin, is on fire. Some organophosphate compound like sarin, I'd suspect." 

"Duncan," Amanda said, turning to the Highlander. "We need to do this carefully - this guy could be dangerous if we corner him. We need Joe, and Robert. This guy needs to come with us as well," she said, touching Methos' arm. "Shit - is Suzanne still here?" MacLeod said suddenly, racing to the door. "She'll tell him what's happened." 

"She's gone, Mac. Relax, I already called Joe and told him to pick her up, and then to get his ass over here. It's a bit early for her to go screaming to Hudson." 

"I'll take his head," MacLeod said fiercely. 

"No." 

Duncan and Amanda turned in surprise to the source of the quiet command. 

"Not until we find out what this is, how many people know about it, why and where. And then _I'll_ take his fucking head." Methos' hands were curled in loose fists on the bedspread. 

Amanda nodded, unable to deny the justice of Methos' claim. "Okay, we'll do that, right, MacLeod?" 

"Huh?" Duncan said, distracted, still looking at his lover. "Yes, anything. Methos, do you want to bathe, or eat? You must be sick of that bed." 

"You read my bloody mind, as usual, Mac. Bath, food, sword." Easier said than done, as he struggled to untangle his limbs from the bedding. She moved forward instinctively to help, but Duncan brushed her away. 

"Please, Amanda - I need to do this..." He looked at her imploringly. 

"I get it, Duncan. I'll go organise some food, you wash him. Joe should be here in half an hour." 

She heard MacLeod whispering quietly to his lover and firmly shut her ears as she went back to the kitchen. She needed a bath too, and decided to risk a quick shower in the upstairs bathroom. She came out feeling much refreshed, and not a moment too soon as she heard a car pull up in the drive. She opened the door to Joe. 

"Is he up?" he asked without preliminaries as they walked into the house. 

"He sure is. MacLeod's just helping him get dressed. Coffee?" 

Over breakfast, she told Joe what she'd worked out, and he confirmed that all the other immortals had collapsed in public, just as Methos had. "I just don't understand it, Amanda. What makes a good man do something like this? It's monstrous." 

"Maybe he's not really good. Or maybe he doesn't think we're really human - it's not exactly unusual with you people." He winced. "Did you intercept the nurse?" 

"Yeah - she's mad as hell, thinks you've all gone crazy. She doesn't know anything about what Gordon's up to." 

"No, I imagine not. We have to move fast, Joe. Your people will need to hold him and make sure he can't do any more harm. And I want a good look at his financial records - you've got to promise that." 

"Right now, I'll promise anything. Let me make some calls. How long will those two be?" 

"Not long. Do it, Joe." 

In fact, as he was dialling, Mac and Methos came into the kitchen, Methos dressed in clean jeans and a cotton shirt, moving slowly and leaning heavily on Mac's arm before he sank onto a chair. Joe stared at him in astonishment. "Boy, if I hadn't seen it myself ... come here..." He stood and pulled Methos into a crushing bear hug. 

"Joe, please, I'm not half the man I used to be," Methos joked weakly, but with more than a little truth. His clothes hung on him even more baggily than normal, and where they did not conceal his hands and neck, the weight loss was cruelly obvious. At least he had shaved - or been shaved. It emphasised the sharpness of his cheekbones, the thinness of the skin overlaying too little flesh. 

Joe let him go. "More than enough for me, Methos. How do you feel?" 

"Sick of telling people that, for a start. Let's talk about how we put a stop to this bastard." 

Duncan kept his hand on Methos as they talked, stroking gently on his arm, or his shoulder, or his leg, never breaking contact. Amanda fed them the pastries and coffee, and topped up her own caffeine levels - she was damn tired. They were close to it being over, thank God. 

Even from across the table, she could see Methos' whole body trembling and MacLeod's concern. "Duncan, maybe Methos should stay behind." 

The old man roused and sat straighter. "No," he said huskily. "I'm the one thing he can't argue with. Why are we still sitting here?" 

Duncan gazed into his lover's eyes, and obviously found what he needed to see, because he nodded. "All right. Amanda, you and Methos wait for twenty minutes before you follow us. Joe and I will go ahead, meet the Watcher team and secure the clinic before we confront Gordon. All right?" 

"Yes. Wait," she ordered, quickly going to the former sick room and collecting the morphine supply - the _real_ morphine. She handed it to Duncan. "Make sure this - and nothing but this - gets to Gina and the others. MacLeod, you need to watch them inject it. I don't trust any of those bastards." She didn't care if Joe got offended - but he didn't look too upset. 

Methos reached across the table and she took his hand. "Clever girl," he whispered. "Mac, get going." 

Duncan took Methos' face gently between his hands, and kissed him tenderly. "Amanda will take care of you." 

"Yes, I know. Go get the bad guys, love." 

Duncan kissed him again, this time on the forehead, then looked at Amanda. She nodded gravely, accepting the charge. Duncan helped Joe stand. "Okay, let's go. Your people are waiting?" 

"They just need my signal," the Watcher confirmed, pulling out his mobile as he walked out the door. 

"Twenty minutes," Duncan said to his two friends. Methos smiled, Duncan returned it and then turned on his heel to go. A moment later, they heard Joe's Jeep start up. 

Amanda took Methos' arm, but was alarmed at how weak he was, how he really needed her help to stand. "Honey, will you be okay?" 

"I have to do this, 'Manda. Don't ... don't tell Mac?" he pleaded. She made him sit down again. 

"Stay there. Drink some juice. If you can't get up out of that chair under your own steam in twenty minutes, you're staying behind." 

"You're one tough little bitch, you know that?" But he smiled as he said it. 

"Well this tough little bitch just saved your scrawny ass, old man. Now be quiet, gather your strength." She kissed his cheek, rubbing her face against the new smoothness. His arm snaked around her, pulling her into the chair next to his. 

"Stay. I ... I don't want to be alone any more." 

She looked into the red-rimmed hazel eyes, and brushed a lock of his longish hair off his forehead. "Mac was with you all the time, you know." 

"I couldn't feel him ... couldn't _touch_ him." He swallowed, his face twisting. "I haven't felt such agony for so long ... he'll never understand." 

"Duncan?" 

"No. Thank God he'll never understand." 

Gently she caressed him, kissing the tear away. "He's very strong, Methos. Let him help." 

"Do I have any choice?" he asked, smiling weakly. "I will. Just ... later." 

She held him close, his thin body warm through her blouse, reassuringly alive even if frail. She knew what he meant - it was a curse of old Immortals that they had more memories of pain, knew intimately how debilitating prolonged agony and deprivation was in a way that Immortals born more recently could never know. MacLeod had never starved to death. She had. Methos had. Even this was not as bad as dying like that - but maybe it came close. 

Discreetly she kept checking her watch, and after exactly nineteen and a half minutes, she detached from him. "Ready?" 

She was totally serious - he had to be able to stand and walk with only a little help or she would leave him behind in safety. "Wait - do you still have the fake drugs?" he asked, not moving from his chair. 

"Yes, of course. Why?" 

"Just get them. They might be useful." 

Not understanding, she got the brushed metal box from where she had concealed it. He was upright, if somewhat shakily, when she returned, and she wasted no further time in leading him out to Mac's Citroen. She wasn't completely convinced he wouldn't pass out before they got to the clinic, but she respected the determined set of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out at her as she buckled him up and she patted his cheek gently. "MacLeod will kill me if anything happens to you." 

He rolled his eyes as she took her place behind the wheel. " _I'll_ kill you if you don't hurry up, woman." 

They were there in half an hour, Joe's car parked and empty. She saw Robert de Valicourt's Lamborghini there, and several other anonymous vehicles she guessed belonged to the Watchers. Methos leaned on her until they entered the building, and she felt him shaking in every limb, but, incredibly, he straightened up and pushed her arm away as they walked into the foyer. Armed guards challenged them immediately. "We're with Duncan MacLeod," he announced and they nodded, stepping aside. 

He looked at her. "Which way to that doctor's office?" he asked, and only then did she recall he'd never been in this building except as a helpless, blind invalid. She led them down the corridor, but it soon became clear where they were going by the angry shouting. She heard all three men - Joe, MacLeod and Hudson - yelling, but they all fell quiet as she and Methos opened the door. "Surprise," Methos said dryly, crossing to the only unoccupied chair and draping himself casually in it. Amanda had to admit it was a masterful piece of acting. None of the other people in the room would realise his legs had been close to buckling as they walked to the office. "Please, do continue. Don't stop on my behalf, I can't wait to hear how the good doctor explains my miraculous reawakening." 

Amanda smiled entirely without humour at the malice behind Methos' tone. "Come on, Gordon. Cat got your tongue?" she added. 

"It's wonderful. A .... " She saw he was struggling to avoid the word Methos had used. "One of those medical mysteries." 

"Oh, yes. Very mysterious. I totally agree," Methos said, nodding. "Amanda, dear girl, have you got that little case?" 

Silently she stood and handed him the box. He withdrew one of the ampoules, and she opened one of the disposable syringe packs for him, concealing the way his hands were trembling, before handing it to him. He examined the label, nodded and then filled the syringe, carefully squirting out the excess, before handing the needle back to Amanda. "Gordon? Or is it Dr Hudson? We've never been properly introduced after all. This is the medication you provided to MacLeod. Now the label says it's morphine, and I've just measured out a small but clinically effective dose. It will do nothing but make you a little drowsy - _if_ the contents match the label. If it doesn't, then I imagine the results will be ... unpleasant. Mac, would you hold him please? Amanda, if you wouldn't mind?" 

MacLeod advanced on the man, as Joe watched impassively, not making a single move to protect his fellow Watcher. Gordon cringed back, falling out of his chair, and as soon as MacLeod laid a hand on him, he fought like a wildcat. "Stop that, Hudson," Joe shouted suddenly, and then there was a small gun in his hand, pointed at the doctor. "Stand still, or I _will_ shoot you." Joe waved Amanda forward. 

Gordon still shrank back. "No! Don't! It'll kill me!" 

"Are you allergic, perhaps?" Methos said, all false sympathy. Gordon nodded frantically, like a drowning man grabbing the rope thrown to him, never noticing it was tied to the anchor. "I'm sure Joe can confirm that from your Watcher medical records. Joe?" 

Joe put his hand in his pocket for his phone. "If you're lying, Hudson, you're a dead man," he said in a hard voice, the gun trained on the medic the whole time. "Are you allergic?" 

Gordon slumped. "No." Amanda moved forward again. "No! Not that, please - it's toxic to mortals!" 

Amanda looked at Joe with satisfaction, but saw nothing but regret in the man's face. "You deliberately poisoned Adam Pierson and the other Immortals?" he said harshly. 

"Yes - but I didn't kill them! No permanent harm was done!" 

"No, you're absolutely correct, of course," Methos said in a deceptively mild tone, leaning forward almost solicitously. "After all, I've only spent two months in excruciating agony, paralysed, blind, helpless - terrified for my life every second. Tell you what, let me inject you with a less than lethal dose, you spend two months like that and we'll call it quits, okay?" 

The mortal went white, then almost jumped out of his chair as a new voice chimed in. "No deal, Pierson. I want his head." 

Amanda turned to look at Robert, who stood in the doorway, his hands clenched into fists. "Better still, keep him like that for a decade, and then kill him. Pity we can only kill you bastards once." She was ready to restrain the volatile Immortal, but he was remarkably calm, considering what had been revealed to him. Perhaps the knowledge that his beloved wife would soon be restored to him was keeping him from exploding. 

"Tell me why, Gordon," MacLeod said almost sorrowfully. "What did any of us ever do to you or yours?" 

"You didn't have to, MacLeod. You just had to be - be alive, be healthy. Alive while Esther died!" 

"You did this out of envy?" Joe asked. 

"It was so unfair - she was so beautiful, and you take your Immortality for granted. I wanted ... wanted you to know ... what it was like for us." He broke down in tears. 

Incredulously, she could see the dawning of a slight reluctant sympathy of MacLeod's face, although he was also clearly as mad as hell. It was Methos who interrupted, slowly clapping. "Oh, bravo. Marvellous performance - you should take it on the stage." 

The doctor continued to sob, and like Methos, Amanda was distinctly unimpressed. "Uh uh, Gordon. The 'poor dead wifey, pathetic envious little Mortal' shtick won't fly. You didn't have to hurt all these people to erase some bad feelings. This was about money, pure and simple. Tell me - how much did you owe when your wife died?" 

He looked at her like a rat would watch a cobra - aware he was doomed, but unable to turn away. "I, uh ..." MacLeod straightened up, all nascent sympathy banished, his brows drawn together in a way that boded no good for the mortal. She persisted in her questioning. 

"The clinic wasn't doing too good then, was it? And I just bet you're charging MacLeod here top dollar for caring for his partner. Robert, how much has he billed you for so far?" 

"Two hundred thousand francs," he answered in a tight voice. "I thought it was a bargain." She was shocked - that was big money by anyone's standards. And times eight. God. 

"Well, that's just plain greedy, Gordon," she said reprovingly. "I mean, I appreciate a good scam as much as the next girl, but you made a really big mistake. You hurt two people I love. You're going to pay for that, big time." 

She'd thought his face was white before, but there were still a few dregs of colour to be lost, for he paled even more. 

"I'm still wondering how you managed it. How you managed to keep me sick enough until I was in your clutches," Methos asked casually as if it wasn't of the slightest importance to him. Only the rigidity of the sprawled body betrayed - at least to Amanda - just how tense he was.

Gordon's eyes flicked wildly from person to person. "I believe Adam asked you a question," MacLeod said harshly. "How did you inject him?" 

"A pellet - silicon. Won't show up on scans. Had the drug in it. Through his clothes." He spoke in short staccato bursts, as if he was short of air. 

"You made it? Are there any more?" Methos asked. Gordon nodded frantically. "Joe, I want those destroyed. And all supplies of the drug, and all the records." 

"Anything you want, Adam." 

"Another thing," Methos said. "Who was your confederate? The one who injected us?" 

Gordon mumbled a name and Joe swore. "Another Watcher. Don't worry, we'll pick her up." 

MacLeod turned his back in disgust on the man. "So what do we do with...?" he asked the others as he flicked a disdainful hand back towards the cowed doctor. It was Methos who answered as he stood up. Amanda resisted the urge to help him to his feet. 

"Mac, give me your katana." 

To Amanda's surprise, there was not a moment's hesitation in the Highlander's response, and the look that passed between the two men spoke only of concern for each other, and total trust. Methos took the ancient sword, walked around the desk and placed it at the mortal's throat, which bobbed convulsively. Amanda who had moved close to Joe in the last minute or so, felt his arm tense under her hand, but he said nothing. They all seemed to accept that the victim in this case had the right to do what he chose. 

"You are going to leave Europe for the rest of your life," Methos said in a quiet, deadly voice. "You will sell your every possession - clothes, books, stamp collections, your fucking cutlery. You will empty your every bank account and you will place all the money at the disposal of an African institution of my choice. You will offer your services to this same institution. You will do this to the best of your pathetic abilities so long as there is a breath left in you. You are going to do this for no pay, and you will not return to this country until they ship your worthless body home in a box. You will sell this clinic and give all the proceeds to help run the hospital. The Watchers will pay for your living costs and not one franc more, and they will donate the difference between that sum and your Watcher salary to that same hospital for the rest of your natural life. You will return every centime you have taken from Duncan MacLeod and the others and give him every single record pertaining to this place. Do you understand all of this, or do you need clarification?" The brilliant steel flashed in the sunshine from the window. 

Joe cleared his throat. "The Watchers will agree, and will make sure he stays where he's put." 

"Wait, Dawson. I need to hear him say it. Yes, or no?" No one needed to have it spelled out what would happen if the man said no. 

Gordon started to nod nervously and then stopped as he felt the sharpness of the katana. "Yes. Anything. I'll do anything. I don't want to die." 

Without turning his head, Methos spoke to his lover. "MacLeod? Does this satisfy you?" 

"Aye. Robert?" 

"I'd prefer he spent two months like Gina did, but yes, okay. If he comes back to France, I'll kill him myself." He didn't sound thrilled by Methos' plan. 

"You won't have to," Joe said, staring at Gordon. "You're getting off easily, you know that. The Watchers wouldn't be so lenient." 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Joe," Methos said wearily, lowering the sword. "The death penalty is the easy way out, I've always thought. This way, his Hippocratic oath will actually mean something." The arm holding the sword dropped, and then his legs crumpled. MacLeod barely caught him, scooping him into a chair and crouching with a worried look next to him. " 'M all right," he murmured. 

"Joe, take the trash out will you?" Duncan said bitterly over Methos' bowed head. Joe motioned Gordon to stand. 

"MacLeod, he needs to tell the staff to go home. They won't listen to you," Amanda warned. 

"Leave it to uncle Joe, Amanda," Joe said, forcing Gordon to leave the room at the point of his gun. "What's the name of the hospital, Adam?" Methos muttered a name of a place in Uganda, and Joe nodded. "Fine, we'll deal with everything else. Move it, Hudson." 

MacLeod turned to Robert. "Go back to Gina, Robert. She'll be waking up in a few hours - you should get her home so she wakes up in her own bed. We'll deal with this." 

"I wanted his head, MacLeod." 

"I know. Talk later. Now, go to Gina." 

Robert glared, but allowed himself to be pushed out of the room. 

Amanda went to Methos' side. The old man had turned very pale and breathing in short, painful sounding gasps. "We need to get him back to the house," Duncan said. "Can you stand?" he asked Methos, who nodded and tried without a great deal of success to do just that. Duncan supported him around the waist, putting Methos' arm around his shoulder. Amanda rescued the forgotten katana - she wondered where the Ivanhoe had ended up and presumed MacLeod had it stashed somewhere. 

Suddenly, she felt nearly as tired as Methos looked, and all she wanted was to lie down and get some sleep. It was barely ten, but she'd been living on adrenaline for over a week and it was catching up with her. Let other people finish the job, she thought, yawning. She was startled when Duncan took her arm as they reached the car - he had already got Methos into the back seat. "Come on, lass, your job is done. You done good, kid."

She started to make a smart retort but it was lost in another yawn, and, smiling, Duncan guided her into the front seat. 

Duncan kept sending glances via the rear-view mirror at the dozing man in the back seat. She watched Duncan instead. He looked reborn. Tired, yes, but a smile hovered over his lips the whole time. He caught her looking at him, and shifted a hand from the wheel so he could pat her face. "I don't know how to thank you, Amanda." 

"I've got one or two suggestions about how you might try, if you want to hear them." He just laughed. 

* * *

It was obvious that Methos was going nowhere but straight to bed when they arrived back at the house. He balked, not surprisingly, at sleeping in the hospital bed they had hired but looked completely unable to make the stairs to Duncan's room. "Where are you sleeping, 'Manda?" he asked. 

"In there, why?" and then he was tugging on her arm weakly. "Methos, what are you doing?" 

"Come on, woman, we're both going to have a little nap. I've been sleeping alone for too long and Duncan's got things to take care of." 

Duncan came up behind her and whispered in her ear. "It's okay, Amanda. He needs someone." His soft, deep voice sent a wave of warmth through her from the base of her spine up into her skull, to the very roots of her hair. Everything _was_ okay, she thought. Everything was wonderful. 

Bed sounded great right now. She sat on the end of the bed while Duncan helped Methos undress down to bare skin and got him under the covers. She shucked her shoes and was going to curl up on top of the bedspread, but to her surprise, Duncan began carefully unbuttoning her blouse. She looked at him, uncertain what was going on. "You'll be more comfortable with him, and so will he." 

"Wouldn't you prefer to stay with him instead?" His hands cupped her breasts briefly as she undid her bra. 

"Yes," he admitted, "but there's still stuff that needs doing to take the clinic down - I want to be sure the Watchers don't screw us over again. I can't think of anyone I would rather entrust him to than you." And then he kissed her, not one of the brotherly little busses he'd been bestowing on her all week, but one of the patented, infamous Duncan MacLeod deep tongue, curl your toes kisses. She sagged weakly in his arms, wondering what the hell Methos was making of all this. 

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay?" she asked, intending to sound playful, but instead it came out as pure lust. 

He pulled her close and nuzzled under one ear. "Later, girl. Get some sleep, make sure he does. At least _some_ sleep." She pulled back, only just now realising what else she saw in the smiling dark eyes. Oh God. 

She crawled under the covers and Methos came into her arms so naturally she forgot for a moment who was watching. Duncan leaned over her and kissed her forehead. "You two look so damn beautiful together," he whispered. Oh God. 

He caressed Methos' head, leaned over her and kissed him, before standing. "Be good, kids. Be careful at least," he winked before leaving. 

Oh God. "He knows, doesn't he," she said into her companion's ear. 

"He guessed, and I confirmed it. Why, 'Manda, is it such a big secret?" 

"But he ... and you ... he said later ...." 

For an answer, Methos kissed the nipple which was conveniently near his mouth. "I know, I heard him. Sounds nice, don't you think?" 

Oh _God_. "Methos...." 

"'Manda.... Go to sleep, girl. I couldn't do anything now even for Mac, and I very much suspect you're not much better off." He rubbed a gentle hand over her stomach. "It's so nice to touch you ...." 

His voice trailed away, and after a few seconds, she realised he was dead to the world, his head using her breast as a pillow. Well, there were worse fates, she thought, contentedly, and not a minute later, she too was firmly and comfortably asleep. 

She found it easy to sleep in the daytime - so much of her active life was spent during the hours of dark -  but she was slightly surprised to find she had been out for over four hours. Methos was still soundly, peacefully asleep - he hadn't moved a centimetre. She could, she knew, slip out and not disturb him - but MacLeod had entrusted him to her. Methos had said he didn't want to be alone. She could get up, eat, have some coffee and slide back in and Methos would never know. But _she_ would. 

Damn that MacLeod - decades of hanging around the boy scout was rubbing off on her and it was bloody inconvenient at times. Oh well, it wasn't _too_ horrible. Methos felt reassuringly solid lying on her, and if he was always slighter, less muscle bound than Duncan, she could appreciate the lean strength as much as the Highlander had come to do. 

She rubbed the long back gently, not wanting to wake him. Did Duncan do this? What were they like together, she wondered. Duncan was always sweet and gentle with her, as she knew he was with all his female lovers, mortal or immortal - but she'd never seen him with a guy. Fitz didn't count, not in that way. Methos and the Scot were evenly matched physically, she'd seen them duel and if Methos lost most of the time, she had an uneasy feeling it was only because he habitually concealed his real ability until it was genuinely needed. Duncan worked out almost as a religious duty. Methos was more surreptitious in his exercising, as was Amanda, but for a different reason. She knew how hard one had to work to produce a body as hard and perfect as her own - or his. 

Or as it had been. She frowned as she felt the way the ribs lay too close to the surface. MacLeod would be keeping this guy on Holy Ground for a while, she figured. If Methos were Challenged now, he would be a gift to a Hunter. Even if that meant MacLeod was free to date again, the price was far too high. She wasn't _that_ much of a bitch. 

She felt a new Immortal Presence, and soon after Duncan crept in. "He's still asleep?" 

"Yeah. Do you want to take over babysitting duties?" They spoke in soft whispers. 

"Don't let him hear you call it that," he smiled. 

Another voice interrupted them. "Too late, kids. You've been sussed." Duncan smiled as his lover yawned, not moving his face off Amanda's naked breast. Methos looked up at her. "You stayed?" 

"Sure I did. Someone had to look after your skinny ass," she said honestly, with real fondness. 

Duncan sat next to her, taking her hand in his and cupping Methos' cheek with the other. "Are both of you up to eating late lunch in the garden? I got some food and wine." 

"I am, what about you?" she asked Methos. 

"Oh, I should be able to totter a few steps. Mac, is everything shut down at that clinic yet?" 

"Not quite, but Joe's in charge. All our people have been taken home, and Joe's secured the records. I've brought some of them back here. You were right about the financial side of it, Amanda. That bastard was raking it in." 

"Speaking of that bastard," Methos said. "Where is he?" 

"He's in a safe house, in Watcher custody. Robert and the rest of us have made it clear that if he's in the country in forty-eight hours, we'll break that organisation until they won't even have dust left." 

"Maybe you should do that anyway," Amanda said bitterly. She hated the Watchers, and never more than now. This was at least second time now that they had personally threatened MacLeod and Methos, and that was two times too goddamn many. 

"No, Amanda," Methos said firmly, easing himself up into a sitting position with their help. "The Watchers are our historians. That is important work. History matters. The rest of it is just aberrations. It's inevitable given who they study and the length of time they've been doing it." 

"That's pretty damn forgiving of you, Methos," Duncan said, a tad roughly. 

"We're none of us perfect, MacLeod." Duncan's eyes locked with those of his lover. Amanda had wondered just how they had got over the thorny business of Methos' past, and now she saw that the accommodation was not as complete as it might be. Perhaps it never would be. May-December had nothing on five thousand and four hundred. 

She broke into the prolonged silence. "Did you say something about food, MacLeod? I'm starving." 

The Highlander's expression lightened immediately. "If you don't mind helping Methos, I'll go prepare everything." 

"Off you go, Duncan. I think I can manage to get his diapers on without assistance." He grinned at her and disappeared. 

Methos lifted an eyebrow as she climbed out of the bed and found her tidily folded underwear. "Diapers? I might have to remind you that I am no longer helpless." 

"Would that be ... later?" she asked, and he grinned. 

"Oh, yes, definitely 'later'. Where did that bloody man hide my clothes?" 

He swung out of the bed slowly, less shaky than when he'd got into it but by no means completely steady. He held on to her to stand, which conveniently put his head between her breasts where he nuzzled for a moment or two before she hit him softly on the head. "Do you mind? Your boyfriend is out there," she reproved him. 

"Mmmm. Bet he's jealous." 

"Of me, maybe. Oooph." He'd suddenly pulled her down onto the bed beside him. "What did you do that for?" 

He pulled her right down and lay beside her so he could look into her eyes. " 'Manda, Duncan's isn't jealous of me being with you. Our relationship is different from what you two had - have - together." 

"Yes, I know, honey, but I don't want to interfere ...." 

"Dear girl, do you think he'd let you? Or let me stop you seeing him?" he said, his green-golden eyes glinting in amusement. "Besides, when I said I didn't mind if you saw him, it was because I hoped you might allow me equal time. Occasionally, you understand." 

She blinked in surprise. "We've known each other for so long, Methos. Why this sudden rush to have sex with me again?" 

He rolled her left nipple gently between his fingers. "You're not exactly easy to forget, Amanda. You are also one of the most beautiful women I've met in five thousand years. And one of the most generous." He kissed the dark bud he'd been playing with. 

She felt her treacherous eyes filling up. "Oh Methos, you're making me all weepy." He traced a thumb delicately under her eye, catching a single saline drop on his finger. 

"So I am. Can't have that." Then he kissed her - not the way Duncan had, but very gently, reverently. Kindly was the word. He brushed his hand through her hair. "Now don't cry because I'm nice to you, you'll ruin my reputation." He kissed her briefly again. "Go and get dressed, dear. I think I might need a hand myself." 

She made to rise, but he kept hold of her for a second longer than was necessary, and then he smiled, affirming his affection for her. "Duncan's a lucky guy," she said in a voice gone suddenly husky. 

He gazed at her serenely. "Yes, he is. Fancy having both of us to love him." 

Duncan had a spread laid out in a shady part of the garden - the day was bright and hot, too hot for comfort but the tree under which the blanket was laid was generous in protecting them. "There you are, I thought you'd started without me." Duncan said, standing up to take Methos from Amanda's arm. He gave his lover a tender kiss before helping him sit.

"MacLeod, put it back in your pants, will you?" Methos said, grinning at Amanda. Duncan rested against a tree and Methos sat between his outstretched legs, supported by Duncan's chest and his strong encircling arms. Their food rested on a plate on Methos' lap. Amanda poured out the wine and handed her men their glasses. 

"A toast," Methos said. "To the lady fair and bright." 

"Aye, to Amanda," Duncan agreed. "Will you ever forgive me, Methos? I should have realised something was wrong." 

Amanda sighed and looked at Methos, who slapped Duncan's thigh. "Will you stop, Mac?" he said with ill-concealed impatience. "The scheme was designed with you in mind - it was _planned_ so you wouldn't be able to think straight. The last thing anyone, let alone you, thinks of in that situation is that the person they've turned to for help, is the one trying to hurt their loved one." 

"I should have been suspicious ..." 

"Yes, honey, you should," she interrupted. "Next time you will be. Want some cheese?" 

The old man had his eyes closed - in happiness or tiredness, she wasn't sure. "Methos, something to eat?" 

Duncan took the plate and held it up in front of his lover. "Peel me another grape," Methos murmured, taking a bit of bread and paté. 

"Don't get used to it, Methos. MacLeod will be working your butt off soon enough." 

"Just as soon as he can stand up without falling down," Duncan confirmed. Methos whacked him again. "Will you stop doing that? To think I actually missed you touching me, and then the first chance you get, you're brutalising me." 

"Quiet, youngster, I have not yet begun to brute. Oh, that's nice," he said closing his eyes again as Duncan began to massage his scalp. 

"How long will you stay here, Duncan?" Amanda asked. "Henri will want to know." 

"What do you think, Methos?" Duncan had to nudge the man - he really was dozing off again. 

"Oh... I don't mind. I gather my teaching schedule is shot to hell, so I don't have plans. I've got properties on Holy ground in England, can't say the idea of moving exactly appeals, though." He yawned again. "This is beginning to be a pain in the arse." 

"Give it time, old man," Amanda said gently, sitting closer so she hand food to Duncan, who in turn was passing little bites of this and that to Methos. She had to admit, the two of them made a beautiful sight together - same height, both dark-haired, leanness against solid musculature. Long legs that fit together perfectly. 

"Not used to being an invalid, I guess. All I could think about when I was trapped in that bed was the day I would be free, and now I am, I can't do a damn thing." 

"I dunno," MacLeod said. "You're eating, talking ... whacking. A lot more than you were this time yesterday." He brushed Methos' hair off his face, and kept up a gentle stroking action as he spoke, his face gone strangely sombre. "I have no words ..." he whispered. 

Amanda held her breath, waiting. "For what, Duncan?" Methos said softly, twisting and staring into his Scot's eyes. 

"At first ... when I used to walk into your room each morning, I thought ... expected ... the nightmare would be over ... that you would be awake and ready to come home ... every morning, I would see you and die a little inside. And then slowly ... the hope changed to fear, that you would never wake up, that I would come in and find you had gone, for good ... and then the fear would go when I saw you, still alive. Forgive me, Methos ... even seeing you like that ... was better than you being dead. I ... I could never have ended your pain that way...." 

Duncan's head bowed, and then Methos turned more so that he could kiss his lover on the mouth, the fall of Duncan's hair concealing their faces. She could only hear Duncan's broken breathing, and the softest whispered sounds of Methos trying to reassure him. She felt embarrassed at being witness to such a private moment, but to get up and walk away would draw unwanted attention to herself, so she sat still and looked away. 

Methos' touch on her leg brought her attention back to him. He signalled that a glass of wine for Duncan would be a good idea, so she poured it, pressing it into Duncan's hand. He looked up, eyes brimming with tears. "Sorry," he said with an embarrassed grin. It wasn't exactly clear who he was apologising to. "What I meant to say that when I walked into Methos' room this morning, and he opened his eyes, it was so much better than when I used to fantasise about him getting well... I never knew I could feel so happy...." 

"No more happy than I was to see you, Mac." Methos kissed Duncan's palm. "And when I felt you, heard you, Amanda, in the hospital, I dared to hope again." 

She stared at him, stared at them both, and then had to look away because her own eyes were beginning to betray her feelings. She sniffed loudly and turned back with a bright smile, only to have her planned flippancy stalled by Methos' soft words. "Whatever, whenever, Amanda. I ... we ... will be yours to command." 

"For anything?" she asked, heart thudding, moved beyond belief but unwilling to show it. She bent her head and studiously covered a piece of bread in ripe brie. "Even ... um, say the Crown Jewels?" 

She heard a soft sigh which she knew was Duncan's, and absurdly, she was disappointed. So much for vows. But then. "Yes, my dear. Even that," Methos said. "You may have to wait until I'm back to full strength though." 

"I was only kidding, Methos. Let me think about it. Cherry?" 

Methos took the offered fruit with seriousness in his eyes, but a slight smile on his lips. Damn you, you old bastard, you know what you just did to me, she thought almost angrily. Then she looked at Duncan, and her anger fled at the warmth in his eyes. She couldn't stay mad at either of them for very long. 

They all got very, very drunk. The picnic lasted all afternoon, with supplies of booze being ferried out from the house by an increasingly unsteady Amanda. Duncan didn't move on the grounds that he had a Methos pinning him down who was alternatively tipsy and sleepy, and besides he had a duty, he declared, to make sure that the old man ate steadily to make up for lost ground. Methos didn't talk much, he just sat and listened and watched, a little amused grin on his face, as the other two joked and reminisced and flirted. When he dropped off, Duncan and Amanda didn't bother to lower their voices, knowing he would wake and rejoin them as if the conversation had never been interrupted. He was most interested in the history of Amanda's relationship with Cory Raines, which led to the loudest arguments of all, she and Duncan both shouting over his head to make their version of the facts heard. He finally shut them both up by yanking Amanda forward into his arms to kiss her soundly, and when Duncan complained, he got the same treatment. 

"I'm beginning to see why you two can't bear to live with each other," Methos said dryly, for the moment wide-awake and sardonic as ever. 

" _I_ wouldn't mind," Amanda said sniffily. Duncan snorted. 

"Oh yeah, right, Amanda. He must drive you crazy with his good housekeeping code and Mac, don't tell me you don't count the silver when she goes out." 

"I don't!" "I never...." Male and female voices clashed angrily. 

"You bastard!" they chorused, glaring at him furiously. 

"You don't strike me as the housewifely sort, Methos," Amanda said with acid sweetness. "You never used to be that domesticated, as I remember it." 

Methos smiled innocently back but it was Duncan who defended him. "He cooks, he cleans. He doesn't steal my credit cards either, Amanda." 

"I only did that once...." 

"Once was enough!" 

Methos held his hands up. "Hey, whoa. Kids, have some respect for the aged, will you? 'Manda, Mac never travels without his best Scotch and I know you know where it is. Why don't you get it for us?" He shooed her off. 

She was already sobering up and took the opportunity to clean up in the bathroom and change out of her clothes which were getting rumpled and stained from lounging on the grass. Jeans and a T-shirt was good enough for those two, she thought slightly grumpily. Anyway, Methos was wrong. It wasn't Duncan's decision that they didn't live together - it was hers. If the Highlander wasn't such a goddamn do- gooder all the time, it might be different, but he had a nasty moral streak which could get really inconvenient at times. He kept bringing that stupid credit card business up and he _knew_ she'd given him the money for that dress. 

Bloody MacLeod. Bloody Methos. She very nearly didn't bother taking their booze out to them and considered sitting in the house to have a good sulk - but the sun was shining, and the garden was lovely and besides, it was a lot more fun out there with them than in here on her own. She sighed, found the whiskey and as an afterthought, picked up a pack of playing cards. 

She dumped the goods on the blanket in front of them. "Cards?" Duncan asked. 

"Strip poker," she answered. 

"Well, that won't be a long game, considering, " Methos said, slightly nastily. "Are you wearing _any_ underwear under that outfit?" 

"You'll just have to find out, won't you?" Methos' eyes narrowed speculatively - and were not without a degree of lust, she noted happily. Oooh, yeah, this could be fun. 

They argued over the rules. Since Duncan was still supporting Methos and refused to give him up (despite the old man's protests), they agreed that the guys would play as a team. And since Duncan was worried that Methos would get cold despite the high heat of the day which penetrated even their shady enclave, they also agreed the loser could either honestly answer any question the winner asked, or remove an item of clothing. "Socks don't count either," Amanda warned, beginning to wish she _had_ put some underwear back on. The boys were overdressed if you took them together. "And if I win, I get a question apiece." 

"Amanda!" Duncan protested. She folded her arms and glared at him. 

"Come on, Mac. Fair's fair," Methos said innocently. "There are two of us, you know." 

"Methos, you know what she's like!" 

"Yes, I do. Why, Highlander, are you worried about a little girl finding out all your big bad secrets?" 

Amanda flicked some Scotch at him for the 'little girl' crack but he just smiled serenely and licked the droplets off his smugly annoying face. "Okay," Duncan said. "But I'm dealing." 

"MacLeod!" 

"I deal or no deal, I've seen you play poker and you cheat." 

Methos nudged him in the ribs. "Of course she cheats. How do you think she got to be the age she is?" 

"I don't cheat!" Amanda protested, putting sincerity into her voice. A complete waste of time, as it turned out. 

"You do, darling. You always did and you always will," Methos said, grinning at her discomfiture. "Now are we going to play cards or chat?" 

Sulking, Amanda let Duncan deal without comment, and kept her face carefully amusement free as she looked at the hand he dealt her. Even she wouldn't have dared give herself such a good set of cards, not on the first round. Duncan was no good at a poker face - Methos was, but his Scottish supporter immediately ruined his efforts. 

"Show them, MacLeod," she ordered. Sheepishly he laid down the cards - nothing. Triumphantly, she put down her three aces and rubbed her hands theatrically. "Oh, goody. Okay, truth or dare, boys?" 

"Dare!" "Truth!" 

Methos turned to glare at his lover. "Truth, dammit, Mac." Despite herself, Amanda shivered a little at how much authority Methos had, just a few hours out of a chemical prison and still weak as a kitten. There was no doubt in her mind that Duncan would give way. "What's your question, Amanda?" 

She'd been going to ask something rude, but the situation was getting a little edgy, so she kept it simple. "Were you really with Butch and Sundance?" 

He grinned. "Of course?" 

"Really? What were they like?" 

"That's two questions, missy. It's Mac's turn." 

"All right. MacLeod, are you really still mad about that credit card?" 

Methos twisted so he too could see MacLeod's face. "No," the Scot admitted with obvious reluctance. "But I _was_." 

"That's two answers," she said cheekily. "Deal." 

She lost and chose to answer a question. "Are you wearing any underwear?" Methos asked. 

"Yes and no." 

"What sort of answer is that?" Duncan asked, outraged. 

Methos patted his leg. "The answer of a woman with too little to lose. Deal, Mac." 

Amanda stuck her tongue out at him, and Duncan growled, but dealt as ordered. She lost again, and didn't wait to be asked before stripping off her T-shirt revealing her bare breasts. Methos grinned, Duncan's eyes got wide. "Does that answer the previous question?" she asked sweetly. 

"You were just waiting for a chance to do that, you little show off," Methos said. Duncan didn't seem to be able to speak. 

"If you've got 'em, flaunt 'em." She did feel a little self-conscious, but it wasn't as if either of them hadn't seen them before on that very day. MacLeod shouldn't have had that shocked look on his face - hell, he walked around bare- chested all the time. "What's the matter, Duncan?" 

"Nothing," he muttered, dealing. This time, they lost. 

"Truth or dare?" she asked. 

"Dare. You want to help me take my jeans off?" Methos said. 

"Methos, you'll get cold," Duncan warned. 

"Mac, it must be 27 degrees in the shade. If you take your pants off, I'll have to move, and I don't want to. Amanda, I really can't do this without help." 

She scooted up, but as she knelt between his legs, her hands on his waistband, she could feel how very thin he was, and was stricken by her conscience. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea - MacLeod's right, you're in no shape ..." 

He reached forward and took her face in his hands. " 'Manda, it's just so undignified to have to _beg_ a girl to take my clothes off for me. Be a dear and just bloody do it, please?" 

"You're so _drunk_ ," she said crossly. She struggled with the snap of his jeans. 

"Don't tell me you've never done this before. Anyway, you're pretty tiddly too." 

"So?" She got the waist button open and undid the zip. "Lift," she ordered. She held his skinny butt up and slid the jeans down the even skinnier legs. She was tempted to fling them aside, but something in Methos' eyes - and Duncan's - made her change her mind and simply fold them tidily. Looking at Methos' emaciation, a wave of grief for the pain he'd endured swept over her and she suddenly found the game sickening. She pulled her blouse back on. 

"Amanda?" Duncan asked, not, as she expected, in annoyance, but in concern. 

"I don't want to play any more, MacLeod. I'm bored and it's too hot. I'm going back inside." She gathered up the empty bottles and a few bits of litter and walked back into the house, not caring if she'd offended them. She dumped the trash and sat in the kitchen, her head pillowed on her arms, fighting back tears she didn't understand at all. This wasn't like her at all, falling apart, but all she knew was that a good cry was what she needed and she wanted to get it out of the way before she made a bigger fool of herself. 

She did feel a little better, but still off balance, as her crying jag ended. She sensed Immortal Presence and assumed Duncan had brought Methos back into the house, but she was startled when a white cloth appeared in front of her face. "Here, I think you need this," Methos said, sitting down on the chair next to hers. She stared at the handkerchief, and damned if her eyes didn't start filling up again. He dabbed at them and pressed the hanky into her hand, peering at her with unadulterated concern. "Was it something I said?" 

"No," she said angrily, jerking away from him. "I've just had too much to drink." 

"Really. So I guess I was wrong then." 

"What are you talking about?" she said in irritation, looking away from him. 

"When I told Mac that you were pretty sensitive underneath that tough bitch persona." 

"You're full of shit, Methos." 

"And you're upset because I asked you take my jeans off. What I want to know is, why. My legs aren't great, I know that, but it's been a while since they made anyone cry." He tilted her head towards him. 

"You used to have really nice legs before... before that _bastard_ did all that to you ... Methos, we nearly lost you. They could have done that to any of us..." Stupid bloody tears. 

"You made sure that didn't happen, Amanda. Because you're clever and wise and good where it matters, you stopped them. Why does that make you cry?" 

"Because I'm _not_ good... because ... seeing you with Duncan ... seeing you look like crap ... it's all _stupid_!" She pushed herself off the chair and stood over the sink. 

"Dear girl, I'd come over there but I'm really not up to standing around at the moment. Come and sit with me?" 

"No. Go away." 

She heard a deep sigh, the clatter of the chair being pushed away, and Methos' slow steps over to her. He made her turn around. "You're upset because mortals were attacking Immortals again?" She nodded. "And you had a sneaky wish that I would disappear so you could have Mac all to yourself? Then you felt guilty for feeling that way?" 

She turned her head away. Where was MacLeod? She couldn't look at Methos at all. "Amanda, look at me. Please?" 

He turned her towards him again. Reluctantly she looked into his eyes, and saw only sympathy and affection there - not a microgram of censure in the hazel depths. "You behaved better than I would," he said gently. "Your feelings don't matter, your actions do." 

"I didn't want you to _die_ , Methos." 

"I know." 

"I really think you and Duncan are good together." 

"I know." 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"Not a single thing. Can we sit down, please?" 

He wasn't exaggerating his weakness, she could feel his trembling. She helped him back to the chair and as he sat down, he pulled her down as well. "This," he said softly, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, "is nothing, says nothing about you. All it means is that it's been a hell of a long day, we've all had too much to drink and had too much to worry about. You're not a bad person. I still love you, so does Mac. Even more than ever, I should think." 

She wiped her nose on her arm, and reprovingly, he handed her the handkerchief again. "Really?" 

"Really." He began a gentle massage of the back of her neck. "Your version of strip poker is fun, you know. I had lots of questions to ask." 

"Oh?" She tried to smile. "Like what?" 

"Oh, who's better in bed, him or me?" He was smiling as he said it, so she knew he could cope even if she told the truth. 

"I can't remember," she lied. 

"Then it's Mac if you can't remember," he grinned, apparently not even slightly put out. 

"If I asked him who was better, what would he say?" 

"Oh, that's easy. He'd say it was different, not better." 

"Is that true?" she asked him seriously. 

"It is for me, at least. I might need to do some more comparative testing, why, are you offering?" he teased. 

"Might be. Do you think MacLeod would mind?" 

He grinned again. "No, I think he'd like to watch. I know I would." 

Her mouth was suddenly dry. "That's what ... I mean, I was thinking ... wondering ..." 

He tipped her under the chin. "You'd like to watch us? That has to be the most erotic suggestion I've heard in a thousand years." 

"Yeah," MacLeod's voice interrupted them. "That's fantasy number two on my list. Right after watching you and Methos together." 

"Duncan?" she almost squawked. Lord knew the man wasn't exactly conservative in bed, but voyeurism wasn't a kink of his that she'd known about. 

"Don't sound so shocked, " he said, coming over so he could pull her against him and enfold her against his waist. "You are two of the most beautiful people I've ever loved, why wouldn't I want you together?" 

"What's your fantasy, Methos?" This day had officially got weirder than any other day in her long life, she may as well go for broke. 

He glanced quickly up at MacLeod before answering her. "Me, in you, with him in me." 

She groaned, closing her eyes. Oh God. "That's ... uh, not bad," Duncan said huskily, his arms tightening minutely about her. 

"Better than the one with the chicken and the peacock feathers, anyway." 

She giggled, she couldn't help it, and Methos laughed at her laughing. He reached over and kissed her softly on the lips. "That's better. I have to warn you though, all this athleticism may have to wait a day or two. I don't mind if you two want to start without me." 

Duncan's hand ruffled Methos' hair. "Maybe you should hit the sack anyway, old man." 

Methos pouted. "Only if you both are going to join me?" 

"Amanda?" Duncan asked. 

"The bed's big enough, if you don't mind." 

Methos stood. "That settles it. I'll toddle off now and see you kids later." He waved off MacLeod's assistance. "I'm okay for ten metres, Mac." 

Duncan kissed him. "I'll be in soon." 

Methos squeezed his arm. "I'm counting on that." He wobbled off towards Amanda's room. 

Duncan pulled her up into his arms. "Are you all right?" 

"Were you listening?" she asked. 

"No." 

"You don't want to know what we were talking about?" 

"No, and don't tell me. Amanda, sweetheart, have I really made you feel this insecure about us? I thought we'd sorted this out months ago. There'll always be a part of my heart that's yours, just as a part of me will always be Tessa's." 

"I know, Duncan. It's all just a bit confusing, you know? You and him, me and him. It's not even like I don't have other fish to fry," she added a little defiantly. 

He kissed her nose. "I'd be amazed if you didn't. Caught you by surprise, didn't it?" 

"What did?" 

"How much you cared about him." 

"A little. It wasn't until he woke up that I realised how much it would have hurt if he never had. He used to drive me nuts, you know." Duncan grinned. "Oh, stop it, MacLeod. It was nothing like you and me. It was just this insane few weeks when we fucked like crazed weasels and fought every second when we weren't actually having sex." 

"That doesn't sound much like either of you," he said seriously. 

"Well, that's why we stopped. It was a lot easier being friends than lovers, let me tell you. Now with you, it's easier being your lover." She smiled to show she wasn't entirely serious. 

"You're a friend too. A lovely friend." He held her tight, swaying gently. She gave herself over for a moment or two to feeling his warm strength, to inhaling the rich Duncan scent that she could distinguish in a room of a thousand people. Like those penguins, she thought. The ones that knew their chicks in a blizzard in the middle of the Antarctic. She didn't giggle at the thought of Duncan as a furry little penguin chick, but only because it would ruin a perfectly good romantic moment. 

"It's different with him, isn't it? He's more than just a friend you have sex with?" For a guilty moment, she hoped he might say 'no'. But she knew he wouldn't. 

"He's the first person since Tessa who I feel I can give myself completely to. I don't have to be anyone but Duncan MacLeod with him." 

She didn't understand. "Honey, you're just Duncan to me." 

He smiled and kissed her again. "Amanda, I'm your 'boyfriend' and your white knight, the 'boy scout'. I like being all of those things. But there are things about me you'll never know, that I never want you to know. Methos has seen that, and accepted it." 

She wasn't entirely sure what MacLeod was referring to. "And you accept him? All of him?" He nodded. "Duncan, be honest here. You accept what he was, Kronos and all that?" 

He didn't say anything, and that absurd sense of disappointment she'd felt earlier, over something else, returned to her. She'd thought he was a bigger man than that.... 

"Yes," he whispered. "I've had to. If I don't accept that, then I have no right for anyone to accept or forgive the things I've done, the darkness inside me." 

"You never did anything as bad as he did," she said, somewhat sharply. She felt him sigh. 

"Not exactly - but I might have done if I lived back then, seen what he had. If there's one thing knowing Methos has taught me, it's that the capacity for evil is within all of us. And I hope I have taught him that the capacity for good in him is as strong as it is in me or in you, or Joe." 

"You think I can be good?" 

"I know you can be good. I think you can be better than good." He smiled. 

"I'm serious, MacLeod." 

"So am I, Amanda." 

She tried to push away from him, but he wouldn't let her go. "Dammit, MacLeod...." 

"No. Amanda, listen to me. You _are_ a good person." 

"I'm a thief, MacLeod," she said, in a rare admission that what she did for a living was not some sort of Robin Hood steal-from-the-rich-give-to-the-poor-thing. "You hate that." 

"Yes, I do. I wish that you had been able to live for a thousand years as a beautiful single woman without breaking the law and living on your wits. I wish I'd been there with Rebecca to offer you a home and protection, and to make you feel safe enough that you never wanted to steal ever again. Just as I wish I'd met Methos three thousand years ago and been able to offer him a choice other than Kronos. I hate that I couldn't. I hate that no matter how I feel about it, or what I think, or wish, you and he lived in a crueller, harsher world and had to do and be things I find hard to accept. But I love it even with all that, you are both good, kind, generous people who I trust with my life and my heart." 

She stared at him. If only .... "I wish you'd said this years ago," she whispered. 

"I didn't know it years ago." 

In that moment, she realised she'd been thinking about this whole thing all wrong. Methos hadn't taken Duncan away from her. He'd given him back. "I could change more. If that's what it takes," she murmured, her cheek against his shoulder. 

"I don't want you to change, Amanda. You're not competing with him." He touched her chin, asking her to look at him. "I need you both," he said gently, "just in different ways." 

"You're all he needs," she said, surprised at how harsh her voice sounded. 

"Mostly. For now, anyway. We live a long time, our needs are ... complicated. It takes a lot to fill the void, you know that." 

At his words, all the tension she'd been feeling seeped away, and a reluctant happiness began to fill the place where it had been. It was okay, Duncan with Methos. Duncan with her. "A tapestry, not cloisonné," she said and his smile told her the art dealer understood the jewel thief's metaphor. 

"Yes. It all makes a whole. No compartments, no need to hide. I'll always be here. So will he." 

She caressed his cheek, then she stepped away. "Go to him, Duncan." He looked at her uncertainly. "I'll be here," she repeated, promise in her eyes and her voice. "Go. You're needed." 

He smiled, and took her hand, raising it to his lips in a gesture that only he could made look sincere, before he walked out of the room to where his lover slept. 

She held her hand to her face, feeling the slight moisture from his kiss on her skin. It would disappear in moments, but nothing else would. She knew that now. 


	2. Chapter 2

Naïve of me, I know, but I thought when Methos finally got better from his mysterious illness, all our troubles would be over. A lot of them were. If I silently thanked Amanda a dozen times that first day, and once or twice out loud, it wasn't enough to express my gratitude for her saving him from a fate literally worse than death. It was just that cleaning up the mess took time and energy that were in short supply for all of us, and Methos' recovery wasn't as straightforward as it should have been thanks to whatever damn drug our dear doctor Hudson had been injecting him with for months. Although he seemed to be doing all right that first day, he was still very weak and tired despite a long rest during the day and catnaps all afternoon. He went to bed early, inviting Amanda and me to join him later, which we planned to. When I went in to see if he'd settled, he was curled up in the middle of the bed on top of the covers. I thought he was asleep already, but when I got closer, I saw his eyes were open, and his mouth was tight in a way I'd got to know all too well over the past couple of months. "What's wrong?" I asked sharply, touching his forehead and alarmed to feel how hot and dry it was.

"I'm ... not feeling too good...." That was a hell of an admission from him - he was inclined to bitch about utterly trivial annoyances but his stoicism in the face of injury or pain sometimes made me look like a whiny five year old. He groaned as I rolled him over so I could look at him, and kept his hands clenched tightly to his chest. 

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere, Mac. Oh shit...." He tried to curl up again, but I pulled him up and held him close, rubbing his back. "Don't...," he moaned. "Damn, it hurts."

Shocked that I could add to his pain like that, I lay him down again. "Amanda!" I shouted. She was at the doorway instantly, and her eyes widened, immediately realising something was wrong. "Have you got any of that morphine still?"

Methos clutched at my arm. "No, Mac...no drugs ..." I patted his hand, sure he was in too much pain to be left like that.

Amanda came closer. "What's going on?" She touched his face, and like me, she was alarmed at the heat pouring off it.

"I don't know," I said grimly.

"Must ... must be residue..." Methos said weakly.

"You mean that drug is still in your system?" I said in horror. Were we never going to be freed of this nightmare?

"Must be ... I think ... can ride it out...." He groaned again.

"Methos, let me use the painkiller," I begged him. "You're too weak to put up with this on top of everything else."

The look he gave me was pure stubbornness. "No. No more fucking chemicals. Just ... don't leave me alone, 'kay?" His voice ended in a whispered plea.

All right, if I couldn't help one way, I would in another. "Amanda, we need hot water bottles or hot towels, and a cold cloth. Do you think your friend has anything we can use?"

She nodded. "I know he has. Stay with him, Duncan. I won't be long."

I stripped down to my underwear and lay down behind him. "If I hold you while you lie down, does that hurt?" He gave me a minute headshake, so I cuddled up close to him, keep a loose careful hold around him, warming him with my body. He was restless, and I recognised the beginnings of delirium that I had seen so often in mortals, but never in him. It surprised me because I hadn't thought he was really that feverish. He began to mutter in a tongue I didn't recognise, and the trembling which had never really left him all day began to get worse. "Hush, love," I tried to soothe him. Hurry up, Amanda, I prayed.

She wasn't long, triumphantly waving a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel. She also had a bowl of iced water and a face cloth. Since Methos' pain seemed to be centred around his middle, I gave him the hot water bottle to clasp to himself, and Amanda sponged his face while I began to massage his back and neck very carefully, hoping the relaxation might ease his pain a little.

Patiently we worked on him, but the attack got worse before it got better. His fever worsened, and he began to struggle and mumble gibberish at us. Only between the two of us did we keep him on the bed. It was tearing at me to see him in so much pain again - if Hudson had appeared at that moment, mortal or not, he would have been a dead man. I even considered injecting Methos against his will, but Amanda saw me looking in the direction of the former sick room and shook her head. "MacLeod, it won't help his fever and he'll never, ever forgive you."

"Look at him!" I pleaded.

"He'll survive. He's a little better now. Don't panic, Duncan. Why don't you go and change the hot water bottle and get me some more ice. I'll watch him." Her calm confidence hit the right note and I felt the tension lessen. He did look a little better, she was right.

We'd been at it for hours, it seemed, and my back and neck were stiff. I needed a break and so did Amanda, I was sure. I was going to shoo her out but when I came back in with the supplies, she was sitting next to him. He had his face buried in her lap and was much quieter. "His fever just broke and he went quiet," she whispered, stroking his hair gently. "I think he's asleep. Give it ten minutes and you can take over while I change."

He was indeed completely dead to the world. We slipped his head off her lap carefully and placed a pillow under it. I got back under the covers so I could hold him. She went off to wash and change, turning the lights off as she came to bed. She lay face to face with Methos, and I put my arm over both of them, desperately needing to hold them close to me. "I hope this isn't the threesome you were planning on offering me," she said with a wry grin.

"Not exactly. I'm glad you're here, Amanda. I don't think I could have coped on my own."

"Of course you could, MacLeod. You've handled worse things. This won't last long - you'll see."

Her words came back to haunt us that night and all the next morning. A pattern was established - Methos would sleep uneasily for half an hour or so and come shuddering awake, cramping up immediately and only slipping back into sleep after prolonged massage and soothing. Over and over we woke to the sound of him trying not to wake us with his groans, until I was nearly crazy with seeing him in so much pain. Dawn broke, and we were all exhausted, but by then things were easing. He spent more time asleep than awake, and the attacks were shorter and, it seemed to me, less severe. By one o'clock, I sent Amanda out to wash and to get something to eat - she brought me some juice and was obviously surprised to find Methos fully awake, sitting up, propped on me and apparently not in any pain.

She sat next to me and handed the orange juice to him. He clasped the glass in one shaky hand, and I wrapped my own around his to keep it steady. She watched him carefully as he drank it all, and took the glass away. "How do you feel?" she asked.

He groaned and leaned back on my shoulder. "Take my head, please."

She obviously knew it for the joke it was, and smiled. "I'm just glad you can ask me to do that. Does it hurt still?"

"A little - it comes and goes. Nothing like last night. Thanks, guys. "

"Don't ask me to watch you suffer like that again, Methos," I said, whispering against his nape.

"I won't, Mac. I just thought it was possible morphine might interact with this garbage somehow, and since we know so little about it, and a little pain wouldn't kill me, I thought it was better safe than sorry."

I snorted at the 'little pain' remark. "I'd like a shower or a bath - what about you?"

"That'd be nice," he said, stretching and yawning. He smelled of stale sweat and of sickness. I had no doubt he could smell himself as well as I could.

Amanda stood. "Let me run a bath and you can bring his lordship in." She reached over and stroked his face. "You really had us worried there, Methos. Planning to make a habit of it?"

"Not if I can help it." He kissed her hand before releasing it, and she went to run the bath.

He was terribly wobbly on his legs, but refused to be carried. Thank goodness Amanda's pal had installed rails in the bathroom or Methos would never have got in or out of the bath. He sighed deeply as he sank into the water into which Amanda had poured something sweet-smelling. "God, that feels good, Mac. I ache all over."

He had a mini-relapse in the bath which the heat of the water helped to ease - it was over in just a minute or two, and afterwards he fell asleep right there in my arms. Not that I minded, but it meant it was going to be awkward to move him. Amanda wandered in after half an hour or so and gave me a grin as she saw my predicament. "Thought something like this had happened. Joe called - he's on his way over. Want some help getting the big lug out?"

"Please," I said gratefully. I got him awake with a lot of nudging, and the look he gave me was pure embarrassment.

"Bloody hell - I didn't, did I?"

"Yep. Come on, Joe's on his way, and there are a few Immortal secrets I'd like to keep from him, if you don't mind."

Amanda had changed the sheets on the bed we'd been sleeping in, and Methos breathed a happy little sigh as he slipped between cool cotton. I think he wanted to talk but he rolled over and was asleep instantly. She gave me a knowing look. "Speaking of secrets - you'd better get some clothes on, MacLeod," she said as she threw me a pair of boxers.

I was just pulling my jeans on when we heard the car in the drive. "Amanda, stay with him? I don't want him to wake up his own just yet."

"The things I do for you, Duncan. All right, but you can make coffee and bring me a cup. Otherwise, you might just find me asleep next to him when you get back."

"Feel free, " I said gently, cupping her face. She did look tired. "But I'll make that coffee."

"Go and see what Joe wants, will you?"

I got to the door just as the bell went, and he was slightly startled by the way I got it open for him so quickly. "Hi Joe - what's up?"

He gestured back to the car. "I've got the rest of the clinic records in the car, and what's left of that drug."

I frowned at him. "Methos wanted it destroyed." The very idea of that stuff being in the house gave me the horrors.

"Yeah, I know, but I figured he might like a chance to analyse it first. If not, I'll incinerate it. How's he doing?"

He listened carefully as I told him what had been happening. I made the coffee and sandwiches for us both - it was well past two, I discovered. "But he's okay now?" he asked finally.

"Getting there. He's still exhausted, and the drug's not out of his system yet, not completely. That bastard better be on his way to Africa."

"I had a bit of trouble with that," but seeing me bristle, he added hastily, "It's okay now, Mac. The Watchers wanted to try him for breaking his oath and serious misconduct - you know how that might have ended. After Horton, and ... you know ... the Galati thing ...." I understood his deference to my feelings but I just wanted him to get on with it. "Well, anyway, they tightened up, didn't want any more Hortons. They thought Methos was letting him off too easily."

"It's his choice - he's the victim here. Him and the others."

"That's what I told them, and they agreed. Eventually. Hudson's out of Paris and by tomorrow, he'll be gone from Europe. They, um ..."

"What, Joe?" My Watcher was looking embarrassed and I wondered what cock-up the organisation had made now. 

"They, uh, want me to apologise. On their behalf. For the inconvenience."

I stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. " _Inconvenience_ ? Is that the word they used?"

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, MacLeod. You do realise this is the first time that Headquarters has ever officially communicated with an Immortal, don't you?"

"They can take their communication and stick it up their ...." I growled.

"Hey!" he stopped me, offended.

"Joe, tell your bosses for me that the next time a Watcher interferes with an Immortal, causes them even so much as a hangnail, I will personally come after each and every one of them, and I will ruin them all. And if I don't, Methos will."

He nodded unhappily. "I got that, Mac. For what it's worth, they're pretty shook up about Hudson, how he could play the system like that."

"My heart bleeds," I said dryly. "Excuse me, will you? Amanda asked me for coffee."

I took the mug into the bedroom, but she was curled up next to Methos, sound asleep. I left the cup on the bedside table, and covered her with a blanket, before creeping out. I had to smile - they looked so damn sweet like that. They'd both kill me for saying so, too.

"She's asleep," I told Joe when he came back in the kitchen. "Methos wore us out last night."

"Can I see him?" he asked.

"I don't want to wake them up, we only got a couple of hours sleep last night."

"Them? Mac, are they sleeping together?" Joe looked worried, which surprised me until I realised he didn't know about Methos and Amanda's history. Still, it was a little narrow-minded of him, I thought.

"They're just asleep, Joe. Methos doesn't want to be alone at the moment - does that surprise you?"

Joe's curiosity turned to sympathy. "No, it doesn't. It's a wonder he's sane - and that you are. I'm really sorry about what happened, Mac. I led you straight to that bastard."

"He would have made sure I found him, Joe. You just make sure it can't happen again."

I realised I was starving. "Have one of these," I said, pushing the plate of sandwiches over to him. He took one and we ate in silence. I could tell something was bothering him, but I knew him well enough that I was happy to wait. I could guess though, the way his eyes kept drifting over to the doorway, through which lay the bedroom where Amanda and Methos slept. I was tempted to let him see them, so innocent as they were, but it really was none of his goddamn business.

He dusted the crumbs of the meals carefully from his hands and his beard, drank his coffee and asked for a refill before he said what was on his mind. "You think you can handle this? Amanda being here with him?"

"Should there be a problem, Joe? Amanda just saved his life." I knew what he was getting at, but I was taking a perverse pleasure in making him actually say it.

"Come off it, MacLeod. Your present lover, your former one - in the same house. Goddammit, in the same _bed_ even."

I took another bite of my sandwich and grinned at him. "Sounds good to me. Why, are you jealous?" That wasn't kind, he was still drinking his coffee. I handed him a serviette without comment and he wiped the sprayed liquid off himself. 

"Son of a bitch, MacLeod - you did that deliberately!"

"Sorry, Joe," I said insincerely.

He looked at me with those old, wise grey eyes of his. "You're serious," he said after a moment or two. "Mac, you're playing with fire. Either of them on their own, but Jesus - the two of them?"

"I think I can handle it," I said smugly. He didn't share my humour.

"What about him?" he said with a quick jerk of his head towards the bedroom. "You think he'll put up with you playing head games with him? Shit, MacLeod, this is the first time you've been serious about someone since Anne Lindsay, and you're still messing around with Amanda?"

"This is my business, my life, Dawson. Just because you're my Watcher doesn't make you my conscience."

"I'm also your friend, Mac. More important, I'm _his_ friend too, and I swear to God, you hurt him over this, and you'll answer to me!"

How had things turned so hostile? I didn't know Joe felt so strongly about Methos. "He doesn't need a keeper, Joe. He can take care of himself."

He harrumphed at me. "Yeah, sure. Straight out of hospital, months of pain and all the rest, and the first thing he finds is you shacking up with your old girlfriend. I've known him nearly as long as I've known you - he's not as tough as you think he is."

"You're talking about one of the horsemen of the Apocalypse, you do realise."

"I'm talking about a guy who hasn't been in love but twice in fifteen years - once with a woman who died in under a year, and you. He's not you, MacLeod. He isn't a Lothario. Hell, he hardly has any friends, let alone lovers. What in God's name makes you think that he can deal with you being unfaithful to him?"

"That's enough!" I roared, and then dropped my voice in deference to the sleepers in the other room. "Back off, Dawson. This is not your responsibility, and you have no idea what you're talking about. I would _never_ hurt either of them...."

"How the hell can I believe that when I know your history with him?" Oh, Joe had his dander right up - we both did. I slammed my fists on the table and pushed my chair away, walking away to look out the window over the sink. I didn't want to fight with Joe - he just didn't know the full story, but I didn't feel like laying my love life out on a slab for the fucking Watchers to pick over.

"Joe, either you trust me or you don't, but this is my business and theirs. You'll have to believe me when I say that I have no intention and no wish to hurt either of them." Stony silence. "Why would I screw up just about the best thing that's ever happened to me?" I said in a calmer voice.

His eyes widened. "I didn't know you felt that strongly, Mac."

"There's a lot you don't know about me. And them. They're family, Joe. Just like you are. You can trust me to look after my clan, if nothing else."

He didn't comment. He didn't throw Richie in my face, he didn't throw the times I'd turned my back on him, and Methos, back at me. He could have. But he was a better friend than that, so he just nodded. "Fair enough." And that was all. He was accepting my right, my responsibility. It was up to me not to screw things up.

He stood. "I better get back to the bar - you want to come get those files?"

There weren't many - just enough to fill a small box. "You better get Methos to go over those, see if anything if missing. The clinic is sealed - I'm the only one who can authorise any thing being removed from there."

"I appreciate that, Joe. Whatever that drug is, it's a menace to mortals and Immortals alike."

"That's what I was thinking," he said, slamming the rear door down on the Jeep. "The Watchers are going to make sure Hudson keeps his mouth shut about it - he's going to have his own observer for a few years."

"Things are changing all over," I said sardonically. 

He poked me with his cane. "Less of the sarcasm. We're shaking things up but it takes time. Things like this help."

"Oh well, I'm glad it wasn't a total waste of time."

He sighed at my sarcasm, and opened his car door. "You just go on back and look after the clan, buddy, and  leave the Watchers to me."

"Gladly, Joe. Take care."

He waved as he drove off.

I dumped the box of files in the kitchen and thought I'd better check on my sleeping beauties. Twin pairs of big dark eyes watched me come in. Methos had his head on Amanda's breast again, I saw, although this time it wasn't bare. "Hi, honey," she said calmly as I sat on the bed.

"What was all the yelling about?" Methos asked. I'd left the door open so I could hear if either of them needed me. Sound travels in two directions - he had to have heard some of it.

"Joe was being overprotective again." I felt his forehead - it was cool, but he still looked tired, and paler than he normally was. 

"Of you?"

"No, you, surprisingly. He's worried about your virtue."

His face creased up in a grin. "So who's going to ravish me? You or Amanda?"

"Both, if you're lucky. How are you feeling?"

He gave me a so-so gesture, but said "Better. Tired more than anything. I think the drug's gone, what's left is just me not being over the whole thing. What did he want?"

"He brought the files - he thinks you should check that everything is there."

He struggled into a sitting position. "Shit. Yes, I'd better, and soon." I considered telling him to lie down again and forget about it, but since I'd just been shouting at Joe about how Methos could look after himself, all I did was suggest I brought the files - and lunch - in for him. Amanda followed me into the kitchen. 

"If you two are going to look at paperwork all afternoon, I'm going to go into town. I want to book my flight back to the States too."

I stopped making Methos' lunch. "You're leaving?"

"Methos is all better and I figured three's a crowd, you know?"

"Amanda, you're not crowding us. Did you hear what Joe was saying?"

She shrugged. "A little. It doesn't surprise me."

I took hold of her shoulders. "Joe doesn't understand. You being here doesn't hurt Methos, or me. You're welcome here, always."

She put her hands on my chest. "I know that, honey. He's told me that too. But, you know, you two have been separated for months, and you need a little time to get to know each other again. I've got things I need to get back to, as well."

"I know you have, but do you have to go right away? I've missed you."

"Oh, you're sweet, MacLeod."

"It's true," I protested. "Stay a week, at least. Can't you do that for me?" I kissed her on her jaw and nibbled her earlobe, and she wriggled.

"Damn you, Duncan, that tickles!" she laughed. "Okay, okay. Another week. No more. But if I get the feeling things are getting too cramped, I'll go to a hotel."

"You won't have to, I promise."

"'Scout's honour', I know. You better get that food into Methos, I think. I do have things to do in town - can I take your car?"

"Sure - will you check on the barge?" She nodded, and I gave her the keys - and my gold credit card. "Treat yourself, sweetheart."

Her lovely eyes widened in pleasure. "Oh, MacLeod ... I won't be too extravagant, I promise."

"I don't mind if you are. Enjoy yourself."

She went off with a huge grin on her face, and I knew I'd done the right thing. All I had to do now was make sure that the other important person in my life was feeling content too. I made a lunch tray up and balanced everything on top of the file box. He was snoozing again when I came in, but woke up as soon as I sat down. "Damn it, that's beginning to bother me," he grumbled. I set the tray next to him, and handed him a cup of soup.

"Give yourself a chance, Methos. Here," I said, steadying his hands which still trembled noticeably. He made a moué of annoyance but let me hold the cup for him in between sips.

He could manage the sandwiches on his own. I amused myself by stroking the fine skin on his arm and stomach. Too thin, I thought regretfully, and wished I'd made a bigger lunch. He'd only have complained about that, I knew. 

I looked up and his hand had gone slack - he'd dropped off again. This was getting beyond a joke. I nudged him and he woke up. "Oh, crap. Mac, keep talking to me please? I feel like a damn toddler in need of a nap."

"Surprised you can remember back that far," I teased. But there was something I wanted to ask him. "Are you sure you really don't mind my still seeing Amanda?"

"Joe really rattled your cage, didn't he?" he said with a faint grin on his face.

"That doesn't answer my question, Methos."

"No, it doesn't bother me, Mac. Good enough?"

"Why?"

His eyes were wide open, with nothing concealed from me. "Because at my age, you take what you can get. If all I can have of you is what left over after Amanda, that's still a million times better than being without you. Any scrap of your company is better than nothing for me, and what I have now is so much better than that."

I stared at him in horror. "You think you're getting Amanda's leavings?" Did he really not know that he had the greatest part of me?

"And Tessa's and Anne's and all the other beautiful people you've loved. Luckily enough, there's still a big chunk of Duncan MacLeod left after all that."

"Methos, I love you with all I am, all I have. I can't do any less."

He took my hand and patted it. "So when you say you love Amanda, what does she get? What has she had over three hundred years?"

"It's different, it's a different relationship ..."

"Yes, it's a part of you I don't have, can't have. I won't lie and say that I don't want it, but what I have is so much more than I ever dreamed I could have, that I don't mind."

"So her being here _does_ bother you."

He drew his knees up and rested his forearms on them. He looked far too tired to be sitting up, as if our conversation was exhausting him, which it probably was. But this was much too important to leave be. "No, I wasn't lying. Mac, I heard you two talking in the hospital. I knew she'd be here if I ever got free, and I didn't mind. I was glad she was there for you and I just felt relief because she had enough sense to get us to holy ground, and because I knew she was suspicious. If any one would find an answer, I thought she could." He reached for my hand. "Why on earth would I mind her being here? Apart from the fact I love her dearly as a friend anyway."

I kept forgetting that - that she and Methos predated me and Methos by several hundred years. "It seems to me, Mac," he continued, "that you're the one who's conflicted. Are you jealous of me and her?"

"No! Surprised, a little - but in a nice way."

"Is she distracting you from me, do you think?"

"Not intentionally ... no, that's not fair. No. She's helping me. I don't think I would have managed last night on my own. She's taking a lot of the strain."

"And you love her, and like her being around. I really don't see the problem."

I sighed heavily, then kissed his wise head. "There isn't one. I keep forgetting Joe really can't see things the way we do, from our perspective. It really is something mortals can't do." I handed him a banana. "Here, it's good for you."

He pulled a face, and then proceeded to eat the fruit as lasciviously as he knew how. "You're all gas and nae gaiters, man," I said, putting my hand over his limp manhood.

"Just you wait, youngster." He handed me the banana skin imperiously then said, "Let's see the files. We'll need your laptop too."

"What for?"

"For my report, of course," he said patiently.

"Of course," I mimicked impatiently. "What the hell are you blithering about?"

"MacLeod, I want the Watchers to have a complete report on what this drug was, and what the method of delivery was, so the next time some smart little bugger decides to do something similar, at least the first reaction won't be that it's an act of God."

"You're giving them a weapon against us!" I said, horrified at the idea

"Mac, they _have_ a weapon against us - they know how we can be killed. Anything less than that is of no real concern. But Immortals do have tremendous affluence as a group, and we aren't much liked as a species. I'd say it was inevitable that another Hudson will arise, just as another Horton will. All we can do is to inform the organisation and as many of our people as you feel you can trust."

"We should just destroy them," I said bitterly.

"No, I told you why. Watchers have been keeping the secret of Immortals for a long time - oh, I imagine we're in a few government files here and there, we're not known for our discretion, but that the general populace don't know about us is the Watchers' doing. I'm perfectly content to let them continue doing what they do, and deal with the mavericks as they come up."

"Even if the price is Darius - or you?"

He nodded in acknowledgement of my point. "The Watchers are beginning to realise that we're a dwindling resource. I'd suspect you may find things are safer than they were before."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Okay," he said, refusing to argue the point. "Your laptop, please?"

I knew he would not be dissuaded so I gave in and fetched the computer. "At least let me do the typing," I asked. His hands were shaking too much to type, in my opinion.

"Are you saying I can't manage a simple keyboard, MacLeod? You do realise you're talking to one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, don't you?" he said teasingly.

I blushed burning red. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean you to hear that."

"It's the simple truth, why would I mind?"

"You know that's not how I see you, Methos."

"It's part of me, I can't deny that, Mac. Pass me that folder, will you?"

Deeply ashamed of my gaffe, I was his willing slave for the next two hours as he read through the detailed files, dictating precise, carefully worded sentences to me to take down. His concentration on the subject was such that he didn't doze off once, and his voice was the strongest it had been since the previous morning. At last he shut the last file, and I saved the document for the last time. "You know I didn't understand more than about half of that," I admitted.

"You don't need to. All they need to know is that Immortals really don't get sick unless there's an outside agency, and this is one of them and I've told them how it works. Email it to Joe and we're done for now."

I obeyed, then firmly shut the laptop down, and swept the files off the bed. "Now I've got you all to myself," I said, taking him in my arms. 

"Where's Amanda?"

"Shopping - with my credit card, so she'll be a while."

"I'll give you back every franc she spends, and double that. I'd have given her mine if I'd known she was going out."

"She'll be here for a week - when mine gets maxxed out, you can give her yours."

He grinned. "I might need it myself by then. What makes you think I've got nothing better to do but loll about in bed with you, Duncan? I do have a life of my own, you know."

"Because you can't get out of bed without falling down, you're on holy ground so no one is going to Challenge you, you're richer than Donald Trump so you don't need to work ..."

"That's a _slight_ exaggeration," he murmured.

"... and because I've missed touching you and looking at you and making love to you, so do a poor desperate man a favour and lie still, dammit!"

He slouched down against the pillows. "I'm yours to command, sahib. What do you want me to do?"

"Shut up and let me do this," I growled. He stuck his tongue out at me, then squeaked as I chased the naughty organ back into its owner's mouth, plundering his warm lips. 

He tugged at my shirt - I was still fully clothed. "Want skin," he demanded, but, perversely, wouldn't set my mouth free. I had to perform some contortions to strip and kiss at the same time, but I managed it, and then wrapped my body over him. I resolutely ignored the sharpness of his hips, the fragility of his frame. I concentrated on his mouth, his open, expressive eyes, the satiny skin. His scent seemed to me to still hold remnants of the hospital, but he was rapidly returning to what I remembered with such clarity. I wanted to give him pleasure - to help him forget the pain, and because watching him writhe and gasp under my attentions was one of my greatest joys.

I bestowed a lot of time on the tender spot on his neck, just under his jaw, and was delighted that his long ordeal hadn't muted his delicious shivery response. As I kissed my way slowly down his neck, he clutched convulsively at my back. I always had one aim when we made love - to make him lose the control that seemed to epitomise him. I wanted him to become completely wild, without any restraint, so that I could be the one to tame him and own him, so he was mine and mine alone. I never could tell him any of this, of course. For one thing, making your lover giggle himself to death wasn't very dignified.

But that was still how I felt, and that's how I moved my hands over him, like a wild horse I was going to gentle. He shuddered as my fingers brushed his nipple. I'd stolen his voice, but I could hear the desire, the need in his sighs and the gasps and tiny moans that met every move, every touch. He had been so deprived of this luxury, this utter necessity as I saw it, trapped in that ugly hospital bed, inches from me, but as isolated as if he had been behind a lead wall. I had been so frightened of touching him, injuring him then. Now I took delight in nipping and pinching that fine skin, to tease and stimulate him, so I could ease the tiny hurts with my tongue. 

I tangled my fingers in his pubic hair, such a contrast to his hairless body, and kneaded around his cock which was beginning to fill a little. I wasn't surprised his response _there_ was so slow, given how weak and tired he was, but I simply saw it as a challenge. "I want to make love to you, Methos."

He grabbed my head and tilted it so I could see him. "Yes," he exhaled. "Please, it's been so long." He sounded on the verge of tears, even though he was smiling. I was drawing this out too long for his little strength, and I kissed his cock in apology, before licking down its length and taking it into my mouth gently. This, I didn't want to hurry, but I didn't want to torment him either - his whole body was shivering and it wasn't just from passion. His sex lengthened on my tongue and I took him right down to the root. "God, Mac ... please ...." Normally I liked to hear him beg. Now the need in his voice jarred me. This had become something more than simple lovemaking and I was unsure how to proceed.

All I could do was to give him pleasure and hope that was enough. I knew what he liked, and all my efforts were tuned to bringing him to release as soon as I could. I nudged his legs apart so I could rub a finger gently over his entrance and roll his balls carefully. "Mac!" he yelled in anguish, and came immediately, shocking me - I had no idea he was so close. His trembling had become violent and when I raised my head, I was horrified to see tears pouring down his face. Damn, I thought desperately, he was doing so well today. I pulled him upright into my arms and held him as he sobbed, still without words. I was in despair - was even this to be taken from us now? I rocked him but I didn't ask what was wrong - he'd tell me if he wanted to, and wild horses wouldn't drag it out of him if he didn't. All I knew is that I'd known him for seven years, and seen him cry exactly twice. Once was at Alexa's small funeral in Paris. The other was after he had killed Silas, his former brother in arms. If he was feeling that degree of distress now, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear him say it was something I'd done.

We lay down together, his head buried against my neck. His sobbing had quieted but his shaking had not, and despite the fact the room was very warm, almost unpleasantly so, I pulled the duvet over us. He pushed it off almost immediately. "Not cold," he explained, his breath still hitching heavily.

"Are you hurting, do you need anything?"

"Just you. Don't go, please, Duncan."

He was already clutching like a limpet to me, but I held him even closer, murmuring reassurance. Now I needed to gentle him for real, using my hands, my voice, even my breathing. It seemed to take such a long time before he stilled and lay quietly in my arms.

"It's been a long time since my technique had this sort of reaction," I joked carefully, and was rewarded with a snort. "Did it hurt?"

"No, of course not, Mac." I waited patiently. Nothing would be gained by pushing and we had all the time in the world. At last he breathed out heavily against my collarbone. "It was so intense - the pleasure, I mean. My body's not used to it. It's like it decided to react as it did to intense pain. Weird." I thought I understood, a little. After torture, sometimes it was the smallest act of kindness that broke the victim.

"Something new for you?" I asked.

He pulled back so he could look into my eyes. "Every time I make love with you is new for me, Mac." He kissed me on the lips. I could taste the saltiness of his tears. "I'm so sorry to spoil things like that."

"Don't be a bloody idiot, Methos - it's not like you could control it. We'll just have to ... desensitise you, that's all."

"With repetition?" His lips curved up a little.

"Aye. Do you think you can stand that?"

"I think I can probably force myself to endure it." He snuggled down contentedly, all his emotion spent and gone as if it had never been. "It's hot."

"It feels like it's going to storm later."

"Mmmm," he agreed but didn't say any more. 

Despite the upset, it was sweet delight to hold him in my arms like this, quiet and comfortable, just the two of us. It had been so long. Not that I resented Amanda's presence at all, but her being away made it even more obvious how much we had been surrounded by other people for months in one way or another. If I had to give one thing that made my relationship with him different from my being with her, it was my craving to be with him, to be alone with him. When I was with him, I wanted no one else at all. Being with Amanda often meant being with other people, and I was normally gregarious. But my private little world of Methos and me was precious, complete. I still couldn't quite believe that he was happy to settle for me, and now I found that he thought he was only getting scraps of my affection, it seemed even more incredible. I was determined to prove he was wrong.

It wasn't surprising that he fell asleep - the only surprise was that he'd stayed awake for so long. I wasn't a great one for sleeping during the day, but the heavy heat, his warm weight, and the broken night all meant it was all too easy to drowse along with him.

It was sensing Presence that propelled me awake and half off the bed. Even knowing that it was probably Amanda didn't stop me cursing my stupidity in leaving my katana in the other room - here I was, supposedly protecting Methos but we were both naked as newborns and just as weaponless. Fortunately Amanda sailed in before I had a chance to do something really dramatic, like grab my sword and start waving it about in the nude.

"Relax, honey, it's only me - oh, he's asleep again?" I knew why she was surprised - it was gone seven, and we'd been in bed for hours.

"Not any more," he yawned, rolling over.

"Well, this is a fine display of manly assets, I must say," she teased, raking her gaze over our bare bodies.

Defiantly, I refused to cover up, and Methos made no move to do so. She didn't seem put out. 

"So, am I broke?" I said jokingly. She kissed me on the cheek.

"Not even a little bit - well, I did have to pay my friend the doctor but that wasn't much and we did owe him a lot. In fact, I only bought one little thing, wasn't that restrained of me? I did get dinner, I thought you'd appreciate that."

Inwardly, I groaned. Amanda's idea of good food was measured completely by the cost of it, a hangover from her early days of desperate poverty. It meant any meal she provided was usually heavy on things like caviar and quail's eggs, and not much on good, tasty simple food, which was what Methos needed right now. I felt him touch my back - I guessed he knew what I was thinking. 

"So what did you buy?" Methos asked, to my surprise. I would never have thought to ask, but the way Amanda's eyes lit up, I realised that it was exactly the right thing to say. Sixty-eight wives - I bet none of them had much to complain about.

She pulled out a shimmery plum coloured thing which resolved into a silken sweater. "Oooh, let me touch," Methos said, sitting up and reaching for it. "Lovely, lovely. Put it on, 'Manda."

"Now? But it's an autumn thing, it's too hot now."

He pouted, and she grinned, already shucking off her top. "And your bra, darling, I'll bet it will feel wonderful against your skin."

Well, who knew? Methos the hedonist. She was as surprised as I was at his request, but took off her bra a little hesitantly. "You know, Duncan," he said admiringly, "Amanda has the most perfect breasts I've ever seen."

She coloured up with pleasure, carefully keeping the objects in question in full view. "I'd agree with that, Methos. I've never seen anyone to compare with her," I said truthfully.

Now she wrapped her arms around her. "Oh, you guys ..."

Methos touched her arm. "The sweater? Please?"

She turned her back on us while she pulled it on, but when she turned, I saw what Methos had seen before - the colour was a perfect compliment to her blonde hair, flawless skin and brown eyes. Her nipples were erect under the slippery material. "You look ... edible, exquisite," Methos sighed, reaching for her so he could lay his face between her breasts and rub his head there with little sighs of contentment. His hand reached up and rubbed a nipple carefully - she gasped and my cock went rock hard in 0.001 seconds. "If you were mine, I'd dress you in silk and nothing else but amber, gold and diamonds."

"Sounds like my kinda guy," she whispered throatily, still blushing hard and refusing to meet my eyes. His hands were wandering at the zipper of her skirt, clearly trying to get her to take it off, but she slapped his arm. "Supper first, you randy old goat."

"But, 'Manda, all I want to eat is you," he growled, and I saw her pupils dilate in excitement. I knew how she felt. She pushed away, looking hot and bothered.

"Food first, fun later." She slipped the pretty sweater off and pulled her summer top back on, not bothering with the bra. She picked up a pair of boxers, deduced they were mine and tossed them to me.

"Why all this sudden obsession with clothes?'" Methos grumbled.

"Because we're going to eat in the dining room like civilised people," she said, wagging her finger at him. "All this eating in bed is making you soft."

I nearly choked at this being _Amanda_ telling him off, and he grinned. "Okay, but I refuse to eat if you're wearing more clothes than me, and I'm not putting any more than boxers on."

Uh oh, a Challenge. "Fine," she said, flinging a clean pair of underpants to him to put on, and then stripping off her top and skirt without further ado. She took more time over her stockings and shoes, little tease, until she stood in her lace knickers and nothing else. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," he said approvingly. "Mac?"

I cleared my throat. "Oh, I'm perfect, Methos. Couldn't be happier." She aimed a whack at my head, but I caught her hand and kissed it. "Come on, let's leave the geriatrics, darling. I'll help you sort out the meal."

To my relief, she'd bought a meal from a decent restaurant, all carefully wrapped in heatproof containers. Even the wine looked perfectly acceptable, nothing too flashy, and right for the food. "How is he?" she asked in a low voice.

I told her what happened earlier and she frowned. "Oh, baby, that's awful - for both of you. Look, I think I better sleep upstairs tonight..." She put a finger on my lips as I began to argue. "No, listen to me. He needs a little time to get used to you again, for you to relearn each other's reactions without throwing something else into the mix."

To be honest, I was relieved, it was more or less exactly what I'd been thinking, but had been afraid of hurting her feelings. "I think he's not going to be happy, not after the way he was just looking at you," I pointed out.

She grinned. "Oh, he talks a good game, but he'll want to be alone with you as well. It's not as if I'm cancelling events - just postponing them." She put a hand on my groin where things had not exactly quietened down. "Hmmm, you're making things hard for me, MacLeod."

I rolled my eyes at the terrible pun, and moved her away. "I thought we were getting dinner ready."

"Yes, but I forgot the _hors d'oeuvres_." Cheeky besom.

"You take the food into the dining room, I'll go see what's taking him so long."

He had his boxers on but hadn't stood up. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"Just waiting for my lift." I raised him up into my arms and he surprised me with a kiss.

"I love you," he murmured. "Be in no doubt of that."

"And I you, Methos. Come on, she's actually bought a real meal for us."

Methos and Amanda played up to each other outrageously - I hadn't heard either of them laugh so much at one time in years. She fed him, he took every opportunity to touch her breasts, even licking a spill off them once. I felt a little like a gooseberry - but a highly entertained one. It was like being at  a scene from _The Satyricon_. "Do you mind?" I finally protested as they broke off from a hot and heavy kiss. 

Amanda slithered off his lap and up into mine. "Oh, honey, are we neglecting you?"

"Yes," I pouted, playing the game. She twined her long arms around my neck and began to kiss me with abandon. "Amanda, we're eating dinner," I muttered.

"I'm all done, sweetie. Methos, are you finished?"

"Everything but dessert," he said, leering at me.

"Find something else to eat," I told him. "Didn't I see some zabaglione?" I asked Amanda. I had to nudge her twice before she answered me.

"Yeah, but I don't want to move. Methos, go get it, will you?"

I glanced over at him, but he was moving steadily enough - he seemed much improved even in the hour or so since we got out of bed, and I figured that as long as he got back _into_ bed before it got much later, he'd be fine. 

He returned with the dish. "You forgot the plates," Amanda said.

"So I did," he said thoughtfully, sitting down. "I thought Duncan might oblige."

I pushed Amanda off my lap, shocked. "Methos! This isn't a bacchanalia, you know. What the hell has gotten into you two?" We hadn't even drunk a whole bottle of wine between us.

"Oh loosen up, MacLeod," Amanda said crossly. "Just because you're all repressed and Catholic doesn't mean we can't have fun."

Methos lifted an eyebrow as he looked at me, and I realised that this time I was the one being Challenged. "All right - where do you want me?" I said, trying not to sound as wary as I felt. "And I better not miss out on dessert because of this."

Amanda kissed me. "I'll look after you, honey," she purred. She pushed back the table settings. "Up you get, Duncan - oh, and we don't need _these_ ," she said brightly, tugging at my boxers, and removing them almost before I could agree. 

I lay down on the table, feeling like a complete nitwit. I could hear Amanda clearing away plates and giving them plenty of room to mess about in. Methos bent over me and kissed me. "You're a good sport, Mac," he whispered before licking my neck. Then he delicately dribbled the sweet dessert over my chest and my stomach, cleaning up the spills that ran down my side with little cat licks. Amanda got up onto the table itself - I was grateful it was the convent's original refectory furniture and made of solid oak - and bent down low so she could suckle at my nipples and lick all around my pectorals. Despite my sense of embarrassment and foolishness, there was no doubt all the attention was rapidly arousing me. It was almost a shock when Methos slipped a spoonful of the cold stuff into my mouth, then kissed me deeply so that I could taste lemon and Methos all at once. He kept it up while Amanda was busy cleaning me off, then reapplied more of the dessert to me - a little lower down this time.

"You missed a bit, Methos," Amanda pointed out.

"Oh? Where?" he asked, and I saw him grin as she put a hand on my hard cock. I could imagine what a picture I made, butt naked, bobbing erection, food smeared all over me.

"I hope you two plan to wash your toy up after you've finished," I said in mock annoyance.

"Oh no, Mac, I plan to wash you _before_ I finish," my lover said with an evil glint in his beautiful eyes that I'd come to know very well. Then the two of them set to doing just that - I was tongue bathed from top to bottom. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping I wouldn't embarrass myself further by coming just from this, but I whimpered when one of them - which? - took my cock into their mouth. "'Manda, I know for a personal fact that there isn't any zabaglione there," I heard Methos say with warm amusement in his voice. So it was her. Oh God.

She didn't allow herself to be the least bit distracted from her self-appointed task, and I tried to behave like a good little dinner plate and lie completely still. It wasn't easy, especially as Methos decided that he hadn't had enough dessert and reapplied the sticky stuff, pooling it in the hollow under my Adam's apple, before suckling gently but insistently there while his finger teased my navel, fucking it in rhythm with the way Amanda's mouth was moving up and down my erection. This wasn't the way I usually made love at all, being so passive, but it was tremendously exciting despite - perhaps because - of that, and although my ego demanded that I resist my climax as long as possible, it was _im_ possible to do that with the dedicated efforts of the two people I loved best treating me like an ice-cream.

With another undignified whimper I came hot into Amanda's mouth, and I could feel Methos' grinning against my neck before he kissed me. "That's my boy," he said fondly, as if he had produced the orgasm himself. I conceded that he helped. "Here, darling, have some more dessert." I raise myself onto my elbows, but he was speaking to Amanda who allowed him to feed her a couple of mouthfuls before she moved up to kiss me.

"Yuck, you're all sticky," she said. 

I slapped her bum. "And whose fault is that, hmmm?" I pulled her close. "Thanks, Amanda. That was amazing."

"Of course it was, MacLeod, don't sound so surprised."

They grinned at me like twin Siamese cats and I wondered how I'd got to be so lucky. "Because you're Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Methos answered. I hadn't realised I'd spoken out loud. "And all lesser Immortals must lie down and worship before you."

"You're so full of shit, Methos."

I swung my legs off the table so I could hug them both to me (and taking a tiny amount of delight in covering _them_ with zabaglione too). "I love you kids," I said with feeling, but then Methos bit my nipple.

"Who are you calling 'kid', youngling?"

"Yeah, MacLeod ...."

I smiled, listening to them bickering, feeling content, happy and well-loved. And sticky. 


	3. Chapter 3

"I was proud of you tonight," I murmured against my Highlander's neck. After a quick shower he was sweet smelling and free of our impromptu decoration. 

"Am I about to be patronised?" he asked dryly. 

"I hope not. I only meant to say I was proud of your grace and your kindness in letting us play like that." 

I felt him relax. "I thought you were going to say you were surprised I put up with it." 

"No, but I'm pleased you did. I did wonder where that madcap bugger in your Chronicles had got to." 

He kissed me, but I could tell he wasn't smiling. "The twentieth century wasn't really a barrel of laughs." 

"Well, I like to see you happy, Mac." That won me a beautiful grin. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?' 

"Are you insane, Methos?", his tone of voice clearly indicating he thought I was. 

I grinned back. "Very likely. I wish I'd had a camera. I know it's a picture that will fuel my fantasies for years." 

"Planning to do without the real thing?" he asked lightly, but there was an undertone of ... what, my love? Did you think I'll leave? Not after all we went through to get here, I wouldn't, and not now. 

"Not if I can possibly avoid it," I answered in the same tone, hoping he would understand what I wasn't saying but spoiled the effect when I yawned. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mac, but I can hardly keep my eyes open." 

"Just as long as you have the choosing of opening and closing them, Methos," he said seriously, touching my eyebrow, "I don't have a problem." My blindness had hit him hard, stirred some deeply held fear in him that we hadn't yet had peace to talk about, and I didn't have the energy for that conversation just then. "Why don't you go to sleep?" 

"Will you?" 

"Aye, eventually. I'm tired too, you know." 

Oh, I did. Physically, spiritually, he was worn out. Day after day in that goddamn hospital I had heard him talking to me until his voice grew cracked and hoarse, trying to knit a rope for me to hold onto, to keep me in the fight. Sometimes I hated him for that. Not now. I'd heard his pain, his despair and it had bred more despair in me, unable to free myself, unable to help him. Sometimes I'd wished he'd kept away, but then, in the middle of the night, I would panic, fearing he would sicken of that pointless vigil. Or that he would take that Challenge that was my deepest fear, and I would never see him again. There were many times I would actually welcome the pain our sadistic little doctor had inflicted on me, because it distracted me from terror. There were many times when I could only sleep because my fear had exhausted me. I don't think I've ever experienced any torture as exquisitely cruel as that. Not even Caspian was that inventive. I prayed to all the gods I'd ever believed in never to go through that again - and that Duncan would never even guess at the extremity of agony I had endured. He had suffered so much just by _imagining_ it. That was enough. 

"What's occupying that busy mind of yours?" he asked, tucking me against him, and kissing my eyelids. "I thought you were tired." 

"I'm shattered. It's nothing. I think I slept too much this afternoon." 

"Nonsense, Methos, you haven't had eight hours sleep altogether." 

"And you have? Give up, Mac, you're as tired as I am." 

He sighed noisily. "My brain's too busy to sleep." 

I knew how he felt. The storm which was coming, but never seemed to arrive, and the heavy humid air that was charged with electricity wasn't helping. I had a theory that Immortals were more sensitive to electrical storms than were mortals - all I knew was I found it difficult to sleep or concentrate while a storm was anywhere around. He shifted restlessly against me for the third or fourth time and I sat up. "What are you doing?" he asked, in weary irritation. 

"Come with me," I said. 

"Where?" 

"Trust me, Mac." 

I waited until he helped me up and handed me a robe. I'd have preferred to stay naked but if I didn't allow Mac to express his protectiveness in such harmless ways, the stress would erupt far more destructively later on, and I couldn't afford that in my - our - weakened state. 

I led him through the darkened house out into the night, so we could sit on the bench in the middle of the garden. The night-time insects and the distant rumble of thunder meant it wasn't exactly quiet, but it was cooler, and the scents of the late summer blooms were heavy in the air. I curled up against him - I didn't need to explain why we were out here, I already felt the tension seeping out of him. We both preferred to be outside, to feel the elements against our faces. We could both remember dwellings that leaked, where you just lived with drafts because there was no glazing, when warmth meant more clothes and not central heating, and when the easiest way to keep warm in bed was to bundle up with a willing partner, whether you were fucking or not. Of course, those were the days when privacy was non-existent inside a building. The only way you could steal a moment with a lover was to do what we were doing now - to go into a garden far from the eyes of family and servants. I knew that he would feel as I did, that the very act of sneaking away like this was intimate. 

"Cold?" he asked unnecessarily, slipping a hand inside my bathrobe to rest over my heart. 

"Duncan, I'm skinny but my thermoregulation is just fine, thanks." 

"You were running a fever last night." 

"Well, I'm not now, as you can feel for yourself." I rested my forehead against his. "What's troubling you, _mo cridhe?_ " 

"Nothing, Methos." He laughed a little. "I'm a bit over-stimulated, I guess." 

His body was giving the lie to that, if he meant he was aroused. I realised he was being rather careful about the way he was holding me. I tested that by wriggling closer and sure enough, he pulled away. "Duncan, I won't break, you know." 

"I don't want to cause you any pain, Methos. You've suffered too much." 

Tender hearted, precious fool. "I am not goingto avoid making love you because it might cause some transient distress to me, Mac. That bastard is not going to come between your flesh and mine." I took his face in my hands. "All I could think of, all I wanted, craved while I lay there, knowing you were there, knowing you were afraid to touch me, was that I could feel you. When you bathed me - oh yes, I knew it was you," I said, seeing his surprise, "do you think I needed to see you to know your hands? I lived for those moments.  I was starving for you. I'd cry in the night when you left, because I could no longer feel your presence, or hear your voice." 

His answer was to crush me to his powerful chest. "Oh God," he said huskily, and I didn't need to see the tears I knew were in his eyes. "Methos, I never wanted to leave ... I wanted to touch you too, it was torture being so close...." Then he began to rain butterfly soft kisses on my face, and on my neck, and his big, blunt, beloved hands roamed all over my body, pushing the robe off my shoulders. I lay back, pulling him with me. The bench was hard but I didn't care, all that matter was that was he lost that careful control and forgot what had passed. I could feel his growing erection against my thigh, and my own was pressing into his stomach, but I very much doubted he wanted sexual release. All I knew is that I wanted to crawl inside his skin and take up residence there. Love Amanda though I did, and grateful though I was, I was very glad she'd had the sense and discretion to leave us alone tonight - sharing him tonight would have been impossible for me. 

A brilliant flash illuminated the garden, and only a second later there was a deafening crack and spazzle of thunder. I could hear the rain advancing over the roofs and sure enough, a couple of seconds later we felt the first cold fat drops. Duncan virtually levitated off the bench, taking me with him. I know my feet barely hit the ground as we raced back into the house, where we collapsed against each other, laughing. "Aw, Mac, it's been ages since I made love in the rain," I complained. 

He tilted my head up. "You're certifiable." He pulled me close, and we spent a few minutes holding each other like that in the kitchen, looking out the large windows at nature's fury. It was a magnificent storm - we couldn't hear ourselves shout over the thunder, and if we didn't lose power in the house, I'd be surprised. In the space between one thunderclap and another, I felt Duncan growl against my ear. 

"What?" 

"I want you," he said again, and I heard his voice reverberate through the walls of his chest and into mine. 

"I want you too." 

He took my hand and led me back into the bedroom. Someone - no prizes for guessing who - had left a tiny, prettily wrapped parcel on his pillow. He lifted it up, grinning, shook it and handed me the card. 'Hint - beds are softer than benches, darlings. And this makes life a lot easier too.' I looked up to see him holding up a small tube of a well known lubricant, and I burst out laughing. "Amanda, I love you!" I shouted. 

Her 'You're welcome' drifted down the stairs, and that broke Mac up too. 

"She's such a ....." 

"Delight," I finished for him. "Well, let's not waste the gift, Mac." I lay on the bed, face down, then looked back at him over my shoulder. "You, now. In me, now." 

He lay down beside me and kissed my shoulder. "Are you sure, Methos?" I rolled over and bit him on the trapezius - hard. He yelped and rubbed the spot. "What did you do that for?" he sulked. 

"To remind you that I may not be as fit as I once was, but that I am still Immortal, so are you, and if you are not fucking me within ten seconds, I'll gut you with a dessert spoon and see how long everything takes to grow back!" 

My threat wasn't taken _quite_ as seriously as I might have wished, because he grinned. "Hospital hasn't affected your language skills any, I see. Okay, roll over, and no whining." 

"Humph," I said at the whining crack. "Oh," I exhaled as a cold gel-covered fingered unerringly found my centre. I spread my legs to make it easier for him. 

"Boy, you put the 'ho' into 'Methos', don't you?" 

"As long as you put the slut into him, you can be as rude as you like, Highlander. " I tensed up as he pushed his finger into me, but only because it was so entirely pleasurable. He kept his finger where it was but managed to manoeuvre a pillow under my hips to raise me up, and wrap a warm hand around my needy cock. I clenched my fists against the sheets and moved my head restlessly, trying to get him to hurry. I wanted him inside me, his cock, his hand, anything. I needed to be filled with him. "Hurry," I whispered, and now two fingers were stretching me, probing, finding that magical gland and stroking it. 

The hand around my cock disappeared and I heard him slicking himself. Involuntarily my hips began to thrust minutely against the pillow before he returned his hand, now lubed, making a hot tight channel for me to move in. "Oh, _god_ " I groaned as he entered me in a single, smooth, wonderful thrust. I loved his cock, I worshipped that hugeness. I'd often wondered if all Scotsmen were once similarly well endowed, because of not restricting themselves with underwear or breeches. All I cared about now was that it felt Iike I was being ploughed with a caber. Size queen - who, me? 

He kept shifting so he could hit that gland, and every time he did, waves of fireworks went off behind my eyes, and my cock would push harder into his hand. I knew from past experience he could keep this up for nearly an hour, but I doubted I would last that long, even in my pathetic state of debilitation. He stretched over me, weighing me down, and I was as close to true bliss as I had ever been in five thousand years, feeling his warm golden skin, the play of those magnificent muscles along my back, his tongue laving my neck, his perfect teeth biting my shoulders. So enclosed, I felt so safe, so able to give myself up to him and his desire, to let him take charge of me because I was his and he would love me no matter what. I couldn't say this to him of course. He needed me to be Methos, the world's oldest smartarse, but I loved that, in my own head, I could be his thrall, his bond slave, his own and no one else's. 

He set up a rhythm I'd come to know and love well, one he could sustain, one that told me that he had forgotten all the stress and the agony and was as into our lovemaking as I was. He rode me, took me and guided my responses, reining me in to set me free. I could feel every callus of his fingers on my cock's sensitive skin, and every whorl of the fingertip which rubbed over the crown, making me yell in mixed frustration and pleasure. 

"Methos," he panted, "I can't ..." 

"Yes, _now_ ," I ordered, squeezing with my buttock muscles and he came with a yell into my ear and a final deep thrust that pushed me flat and my cock into his hand. I came hard and the last fireworks exploded in my head. "Fuckin' hell," I breathed finally. 

He began to laugh, a whole body, lovely giggle that shifted him against me, rocked me and warmed me. " _Such_ a way with words," he gasped, and kept chortling. He made no move to get off me, and I was more than content to lie there as I was, with his hand brushing through my hair. "It didn't hurt this time," he said finally, a statement of fact, not a question. 

I quickly did a status check - wrung out, empty. Totally fucked. No trembling, no pain, no distress. "Nope. I think I'm better." 

"You're certainly good, Methos," he purred into my ear, licking it. Now I shivered. 

The storm was passing. The rain had stopped and all that was left were some random flashes and some bone shaking cracks of thunder. All the charge in the air had dissipated, and it felt cooler, fresher. The window in the room was open, and a breeze licked over our bodies. Duncan moved then, as I knew he would. "I'm too lazy to get up," I said, forestalling him. "Are you fetching a cloth?" 

"Idle sod," he grumbled, as if he wasn't going to do exactly that. The sooner we stopped playing the roles of patient and caregiver, the sooner the pretence would become reality. 

I rolled over, grinning to myself. My arse felt pleasantly reamed, slightly sore, and very, very happy. Like the rest of me. It hadn't been one of our most vigorous sessions, but it was worn me out completely, and I had little doubt I would sleep now. 

I was practically purring by the time he'd finished cleaning me off with a warm cloth - I liked this part of sex _nearly_ as much as the before bit. "I wish Joe could see us now," I muttered. 

His hand froze. "What? Why?" 

"Well, to think you don't look after me," I said, only slightly faking the indignation. 

"How much of that did you hear?" he asked suspiciously. 

"Practically all of it, I guess. I thought it was bloody funny." 

He threw the cloth into the clothing hamper. "I didn't. Goddamit, Methos, what do I have to do to convince him that I love you for real?" 

"Oh, I dunno. Stay with me for a couple of hundred years?" 

He lay down beside me and I cuddled into his arms - Mac's a great cuddler, by the way. "Only a couple of hundred? Do you think that's enough? I was thinking ... more, maybe." 

"I could probably endure that, if I had to. It would be a real sacrifice, you know. Being fucked senseless and loved to bits. I could see that getting boring in say, a millennia or three. Possibly." 

"You just let me know if you get sick of the routine, old man. Wouldn't want you wandering off and playing with strangers because you got tired of me." 

"Nah. Been there, done that. The only strange man I want playing with me is you." "Not strange," he mumbled, then yawned. "I'm tired." 

"Then go to sleep, you've earned it." And so he did. 

* * *

"Good morning, boys," a chirpy hateful little voice said, and I threw a pillow at it. 

"Go _'way_ , 'Manda." I buried my head in Mac's pillow. 

"Now, now, Methos," she said brightly, perching on the bed just where I could kill her if I (a) had a weapon and (b) had the energy. "Just because you spent half the night prancing around down here in the altogether, doesn't mean you can be so nasty. The sun is shining, the sky is blue ... ouch, Duncan!" He'd dragged _his_ pillow out from under our heads and thrown it at her too. 

"Amanda, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but if you don't piss off right now, I will kill you, cut you up into bite size pieces and feed you to the pigeons." 

That was twice in twelve hours that hadn't worked. She kept right on smirking. "Oh, honey, how could I possibly take that the wrong way? I've made coffee - want some?" 

I looked into Duncan's bleary eyes. "What do you reckon, Mac? Can we let her live long enough to feed us coffee?" 

"Only if she gives me back the pillow I just threw at her," he said. 

"That's the deal, 'Manda dear. Pillow, coffee, no pigeons," I told her. 

She thumped the pillow hard down over us. "And if you're real lucky, I won't spit in it," she said, flouncing out. I looked at Mac again. 

"She wouldn't." 

"She might. But I don't think she will. What the hell is she doing up at ... six am! I'll bloody murder her," he groaned. 

Amanda was _not_ a morning person, ipso facto she was up to something. But what? "Get in line, MacLeod. Good morning by the way." 

"Mmmm," he murmured, kissing me. Amanda was immediately forgotten. "Did you sleep well?" 

"I slept the sleep of the completely innocent, which is some feat, I can tell you. What about you?" 

"I feel good," he said, indirectly answering the question. He ran his hand down my body. "You feel ... different. There." 

He could take it to a circus, that psychic act of his. "I think I am now. I can't even feel where the pain was any more. Told you we needed more sex." 

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Methos," Amanda said, putting a tray on the floor and handing us our mugs. "You boys put on quite a sound show last night." She pantomimed waving her hot and flustered face. 

"A horrible fate awaits eavesdroppers, you know," I said. The coffee was good. She got to live for another five minutes. 

"Eavesdropping! I'd have to be in the next _district_ not to have heard all that." 

Duncan had gone the most attractive pink - I knew she was doing this deliberately. She could be a lot of fun, I definitely remembered that. "Amanda ...," he started to protest. 

"And the _worst_ part about it was having to deal with it all on my own," she said with such perfect _faux_ innocence that it was a second or two before Mac got it, and then he turned from pink to red. 

"Amanda!" 

"Yes, MacLeod?" 

I turned to him. This was too delicious to miss. "Yes, MacLeod?" I said in exactly the same tone of voice. 

He dropped his gaze to his suddenly fascinating coffee cup. "Nothing," he mumbled. I decided he would get over it. 

I grabbed Amanda around her waist and tugged her closer. The minx wasn't wearing even a scrap of lace underneath her dressing gown, which fell open at the strategic moment. I slipped a hand down between her thighs, and a finger up into her lovely hot cunt. "Poor darling, was it awful? Did you spend hours with your hand like this, trying to come, the sounds of us enjoying each other ringing in your ears." 

She wriggled on my hand but did nothing to move it. "Hours? Don't flatter yourself, Methos. I've had longer sessions ...ooh, Methos!" I'd moved my thumb up against her clit. She was already dripping - just what _did_ that child do with herself in the morning? 

"Methos, " Mac said, sounding uncertain. 

"Don't just lie there, MacLeod. We've been accused of rank insensitivity and the neglect of a fragile female under our roof. The least we can do is make sure her needs are attended to." I reached behind me and touched his arm. I signalled for him to come closer, in front of me. "Take that robe away, please, Mac. It's obscuring a very pretty sight." Now I could see his face, and I was relieved that he wasn't worried, only, I think, a little unsure of how I was choreographing things. He trusted me, I knew. God, I loved that man. 

He moved behind her and slipped the gown off her shoulders, tossing it away before kneeling behind her and clasping her breasts in his big hands. He trapped the erect nipples between his fingers and began to roll them to her obvious delight since she squeaked. He nibbled her ear while I rubbed my free hand between her breasts. "What were you saying before, 'Manda?" 

She rocked on my hand. "I don't know, Methos," she groaned. "Oh damn, I'm so wet!" 

"You certainly are, my dear. But don't be in any hurry. I have it on good authority that we went much too fast for you last night. In fact ... Mac, I think we'd better see if we can make amends." I winked at him as I removed my hand, and he let her go. She sagged down. 

"Methos," she whined, her hand going to her bush. I snagged it and pulled it over her head. 

"Nuh uh, 'Manda. No starting without us." She went for me with her free hand and I trapped that too. "Naughty, naughty child. Mac, get the belt off that robe for me." 

Her eyes went wide and she began to struggle. However, Amanda at the peak of her condition was more than a match for me in my present state, so I knew she wasn't _really_ worried. With Mac's help, I got her wrists tied to the bedpost and although she wriggled and swore, she didn't really try to get free. Just as well, those knots were impossible, I knew that for a fact. I kissed her on the mouth. "Relax, 'Manda dear, you're going to get your wish. You said you wanted to watch." 

"Not like this!" 

"Beggars can't be choosers, dear. Now be quiet, you'll put Duncan off his stroke, and we don't want that, do we?" And with that, I ignored her. 

Mac was sitting on the other side of the bed with a smirk on his face. I doubt any of this was exactly a surprise to him. I reached for him and he took me in a deep-throated kiss. "Let's make it good for her, Duncan," I whispered. He nodded minutely, before kissing me again, and licking my throat. "Do me next to her," I subvocalised. He nodded again. 

He lay me down, right next to her as I wanted, and began to kiss his way gently down my body. He wasn't acting, his usual way in bed was so cherishing that it sometimes moved me to tears. If Amanda thought that Duncan somehow became this brutish sex god in bed with me, she was in for a disappointment. 

My body responded in its usual way to the soft movement of his lips and his hands, and my own mouth was making these quiet little sounds of needs without any volition on my part. It had been a long time since anyone had watched me have sex, and even longer since that was without paying for it, and I was overcome with a totally inappropriate sense of shyness. I didn't dare look at Amanda, but Mac lifted his head and I was lost in those liquid brown eyes. Nothing else existed after that. 

I loved Mac's hair, so sue me. I've always liked to play with hair - women's hair usually, but Mac's was better because he didn't care if I messed it up. It was silky and soft and strong and if I was in a really sappy mood I'd think it was like him, except that he wasn't soft, not really. He just did a damn imitation of soft, like me being cute, and after a while, who the hell cared? 

So my hands tangled in his lovely soft hair at the same time as he went down on me, and I moaned at the same time as Amanda did, right by my ear. I nearly jumped off the bed - I'd forgotten she was there. Oh, right. I twisted around and looked at her - her eyes were as wide and dark as if she was the one being fellated, and she was panting hard. Poor thing. I moved my hand over her cunt and she moaned again, just as Duncan did that thing with his tongue and my spine went liquid. He pushed one finger inside me and I shivered all over. "Yes," I told him. 

"Yes? What about...." His eyes flicked to Amanda, and I remembered what I'd said yesterday. I rolled over and lay my head on her stomach. 

"Amanda, love, do you want me to take you?" 

"Yes, Methos, please, I'm dying!" 

Mac laughed at her desperation and rubbed her feet. I climbed over her. "I'm going to fuck you and Mac is going to fuck me," I whispered against her neck. "If you don't want that, tell me now and we'll stop." She surged against the bonds tying her to the bed, and tried to grind herself against me. "Come on, darling, tell me how you really feel," I teased, rubbing my hand against her pubis. 

"I hate you," she said petulantly, as I moved out of her reach. 

"Duncan, could we have that pillow? Thanks." We lifted her hips up onto it, and I licked one erect nipple while Mac took his time kissing her mouth. She moaned when we moved away and tugged against the belt. "'Manda, you haven't learned a bit of patience in five hundred years, you know," I reproved her, spreading her legs. 

"Methos, please just fuck me!" 

"Mac, are you sure? You wouldn't prefer ....?' 

"Oh, no, after you, Methos," he said with a grin. 

"Guys, when I get free ...." she threatened, shaking her arms in impotent fury. 

I wagged my finger at her. "Temper, temper. Bad girls don't get presents from nice men." 

"You aren't nice men. You're the nastiest bastards I've ever had sex with!" 

I winked at Mac. The Highlander was enjoying himself hugely and I had to wonder how much payback was involved in this. I was going to get the story out of him if it killed me. Which it might do - thank god I'd had so much rest last night. 

Apart from her beautiful breasts, Amanda had the prettiest genitals of any woman I'd ever lain with and I spread the lips with a gentle hand so I could look. Perfectly symmetrical, her clitoris a dark pink bud in red petals, I loved to look at her. I could see, feel, she was ready - more than ready - and she nearly kicked me in the fundament when I ran a thumbnail lightly over her clit. "You'll never get fucked if you keep that up, madam." 

"I'll make sure you never have sex again, Methos, unless you stop messing around!" She was yelling now - didn't take frustration well, our Amanda. I finally took pity on her, kneeling between her legs. She immediately wrapped them around my waist and I knew I wasn't getting free until she got what she wanted. Mac got behind me, and I straightened up a little at the shock as he slid gel into me - it wasn't necessary, but no one ever accused Duncan MacLeod of being an inconsiderate lover, and he wasn't going to ever take me without lubricant, end of story. 

Amanda's beautiful heat was like coming home - I loved taking Duncan, but men are different, there's just no argument - and it was like being enclosed in a silken glove. A glove with a strong muscular hand inside it, gripping my cock and stroking it hard. And then Duncan eased his wonderful length inside me and I knew that the ecstasy on Amanda's face was mirrored on mine. I held her breasts and she grabbed my arms, pulling me in, closer, harder. She liked her lovers strong and vigorous, even if she appreciated the _tendresse_ that Duncan offered as well. 

He was helping me give her what she wanted, his hands gripping my hips, adding to my thrusts, keeping me harder than hell. He was utterly silent except for his harsh breathing, quite unlike his normal demeanour, but just when I wondered if he was okay, he wrapped an arm around my chest and pulled me to him, laying his head on my shoulder. "I love you," he whispered. I freed one hand from Amanda's grasp so I could touch his cheek in wordless acknowledgement. 

Beneath me, Amanda arched and gasped, her cunt fluttering around me in her orgasm. Mac increased the depth and power of his thrusts into me, hitting my prostate and making my balls tighten up almost unbearably. He wrung my climax from me, holding me up so I didn't collapse on top of our beautiful companion, sliding me down carefully, and with me still in her, fucked me hard until he too came with a startling roar. Amanda began to giggle. 

I lifted my head to look at her, lifting my eyebrow in question at her reaction. "Him Tarzan ... you, Jane?" she said, so I bit her stomach lightly in reproach. "Bastard," she said without hostility, and then she yawned. "Damn, it's too early for me." 

Mac snorted against my neck, before rolling off me and pulling me off her carefully and into his arms. I held her hand loosely. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" I asked. 

She turned a flushed, sweaty, happy face to us. "Mmmm. Goood." Then she shook her wrists. "Would you mind?" 

Mac did the honours, then lay on the other side of her so she was sandwiched between us. He kissed her. "This is what you got up so early for?" he asked. 

"Got my worm, didn't I?" she said cheerfully. 

We both groaned. "We would have been just as willing to participate in, say, three hours or so," I pointed out in my most reasonable voice, trying hard not to think about pigeons and how small their beaks were. 

"I couldn't wait," she said, in an apologetic voice. "It's your fault, you got me all so worked up last night. And I didn't interrupt you then, did I?" 

Mac kissed her hand. "No, sweetheart, you didn't. We appreciated that." 

"Yes, we did. And the gift." 

It was still very early, and the cool fresh air from the open windows brushed over our sweaty bodies. Mac had his head tucked onto her shoulder, and I was resting on her breast, clasping her hand and his across her stomach. I was nearly dozing again when I heard Mac's voice rumble. "And in three hours' time, I want to try that position myself, Methos." 

"I live to serve, MacLeod," Amanda said, yawning. 

I kissed her cheek. "No, darling, you live to _be_ served. That's how it should be." And with the sounds of my two companions laughing gently, I fell asleep, knowing the day could only get better and better. 


End file.
